How To Seduce A Buchou
by terminal insanity
Summary: like the title says: how to seduce a buchou.  will contain seigaku, hyotei, and rikkai. WARNINGS: contains fuji x tezuka, jiroh x atobe x jiroh, sanada x yukimura.
1. Seishun Gakuen

Tension was thick in the air, almost tangible, as the tennis match progressed. There were faint murmurs, but only occasionally, since most of the spectators were too awed to say much most of the time. The score was six-all, and the tie-break match was currently being played out.

It was a match between Seigaku's captain and resident genius.

Practice, if you went by time, was officially over. No one had actually foreseen Fuji challenging Tezuka. With their captain engaged in a match, there was no way that practice was going to end anytime soon. All the members, even the Regulars, were watching by the sidelines, having abandoned their own matches long ago. Rather, they had stopped when the scores had been five-all, and _that_ had been almost two hours ago.

And then Fuji faltered a step, missing the ball by, as Inui said after the score had been announced, exactly two millimeters.

"Deuce!"

Fuji, ever-smiling, even now with his eyes open, simply picked up where they had left off. The ball zoomed past the net, then sped back, and forth, and back again. And then, Fuji sent Tezuka a beautiful lob. It was really quite impossible to resist.

Tezuka arched his brow minutely, for that was all the change in expression he was seemingly capable of in public, knowing what Fuji was leading to. How could he not? Still, it would be interesting to see if he could…

He delivered a powerful smash, the twinkle in his eyes visible only to his opponent staring back directly at him.

He was stunned when Fuji stumbled, fell—gracefully, for any movement the tensai made was somehow always executed with perfect elegance, even when he fell—and missed the ball once more.

The score was a distant murmur that barely penetrated the haze in Tezuka's mind. He scowled at Fuji, his expression more stern than normal. For the life of him, Tezuka couldn't fathom why Fuji had given him the last two points. But it would end here. He was not about to win yet _another_ match this way.

* * *

The club room was unusually silent as the club and team members packed up and left as quickly as possible. It was just _asking_ for trouble to linger behind when their buchou was glaring more intensely than usual at the tensai who had just lost to him. While some of them did tend to gravitate towards troublesome situations, none of them were actually suicidal, and so the clubroom was left empty within minutes of dismissal, save for Tezuka and Fuji.

"Tezuka?"

Tezuka didn't reply. Instead, the buchou sent a fulminating look in the general direction of Fuji's voice, before returning his dark death-glare to his tennis bag.

"Tezuka, stop being childish."

There was a rustle of cloth, the metallic purr of a zipper, but no reply. Fuji sighed. Sometimes Tezuka could really try his patience. So he tried a different tactic. He finished packing up his things, then hefted the bag onto his shoulder. He made a hiss of pain, then winced and dropped the bag to the floor.

"What's it this time?" Tezuka asked warily, exasperation in his voice. He should have known that Fuji would try something like this. But the tensai was a very good actor, and Tezuka couldn't ignore him without being sure if he was faking it or not.

Fuji massaged his arm, just beneath his shoulder. "I think I injured it when I fell just now," he said with a pained but serenely-smiling expression on his face.

"That'll teach you," Tezuka muttered darkly. "Fuji, when will you stop letting me win?"

Fuji smiled, then shrugged. "What makes you think that I let you win?"

The sharp glare intensified, and Tezuka narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "I'm not as good as Inui, so I can't give you the exact distance, but it's hard not to notice when you keep missing the ball by the same amount.

"What coincidence," Fuji remarked, his voice containing just enough surprise to sound sincere, but at the same time, enough blandness to alert Tezuka.

Tezuka snorted in irritation. "Don't get me started, Fuji."

"Why not?" Fuji replied with a teasing smile. He lifted his bag off the floor slightly, then frowned and turned to Tezuka. "Ne, Tezuka, could you walk me home today?"

"Why?" Tezuka asked, refusing to look up from his almost-packed bag.

"I don't want to strain my shoulder while it's like that." Fuji's voice was suddenly by his ear. "And you're so strong, Tezuka. Surely you can help me with my bag…"

Tezuka started, falling back onto his rear. He blinked in surprise. How had Fuji managed to get all the way over from his end of the room without him knowing? An absent thought flashed by the back of his brain that Fuji would make a very good hunter. Or predator.

He glared at the innocently smiling face that was currently the bane of his life, then picked himself off the floor. It was such an undignified position for a team captain to be in: sprawled across the floor with a sadistic tensai hovering above, smiling like he hadn't just scared ten years off the life of his buchou.

"Tezuka, are you okay?" Fuji asked with feigned concern.

"Yes," he replied tersely. He grabbed his bag angrily and stormed off towards the door.

"Ah, well, I suppose I can manage my bag alone. After all, it might only ruin my future in tennis and cause the defeat of the team if the burden of victory happens to fall to me." He tried to suppress a pained look as he heft the bag onto his shoulder again. "But it's okay," he assured Tezuka, who had one foot out the door.

Fuji smiled inwardly as Tezuka failed to resist the urge to slap his forehead with his hand. The buchou sighed at heaven, probably wondering what he had done to deserve this, then stalked back to Fuji and grabbed the tensai's tennis bag.

"Tezuka," he purred. "You're so kind."

"I must be, since I haven't strangled you yet."

"Buchou, was that actually an attempt at a joke?"

Tezuka ignored him and strode towards the door, clubroom keys clinking in his hand. "Hurry up. I've got to lock the room up."

Fuji smiled to himself and obediently followed Tezuka out the door.

* * *

"It's so hot," Fuji proclaimed in a velvet-smooth voice. He plucked at the collar of his shirt and tried to fan some air in. Failing which, he undid the first two buttons and repeated his attempt to avail himself of the heat. "Mm, that feels so much better…"

Tezuka told himself resolutely _not_ to look. It was extremely dangerous when Fuji spoke in that tone. He purposefully looked in front of him, and _only_ in front, ignoring his peripheral vision. Fuji could strip for all he cared.

Strip? He wanted to hit his head against a wall when all he could think off was Fuji slowly, teasingly, slipping button after button out of their holes; Fuji mock-shyly nudging his shirt off, mischievous smile on his face; Fuji unzipping his pants with excruciatingly slow, caressing moves. His cheeks went hot and he looked away from the road before him. Unfortunately, he found himself staring at Fuji.

Fuji took in Tezuka's flushed appearance, and irritated eyes and smiled placidly. He tilted his head back to smile at the sun, flicking a bead of sweat off one side of his neck, acting as if he didn't know what had put that deep pink blush on Tezuka's face.

"You look a little hot, Tezuka," Fuji murmured after awhile. "There's this place along the way that sells really good ice cream and popsicles and desserts. We can go cool off there."

Tezuka didn't say anything, but he didn't object, so Fuji led him to a little stall by the park.

"What would you like? It's my treat, since you're being so sweet, walking me home." He ignored Tezuka's scowl and pointed at various flavours. "This one is really nice if you mix in a bit of that one, and that one over there, with half a scoop of that one."

The last one he pointed at was green, and had it been anyone else, Tezuka wouldn't have been compelled to look at the little flavour cards. He turned a slight shade of green when he added up all the flavours. Who in their right minds would eat yoghurt ice cream mixed with blue cheese ice cream—why was there even a blue cheese flavour in the first place? Heck, what kind of ice cream parlour was this anyway?—and mixed vegetable ice cream and half a scoop of—this one, he had at least expected—wasabi ice cream?

"Fuji, what kind of place is this?"

Fuji smiled—when was he ever _not_—and shrugged. "They sell all those flavours that you'd never find anywhere else."

"I wonder why that is," Tezuka muttered dryly. He perused the selection of ice creams, no longer trusting Fuji to pick anything out for him—not that he had intended to from the beginning. In the end, he took a cone of the most normal flavour they had, which was choco-vanilla-banana swirl.

When Fuji had decided, the tensai was presented with a pinkish-crimson popsicle. Tezuka did _not_ want to find out what flavour it was. Knowing Fuji, it was most likely something weird, like tomato, or ketchup-Tabasco, or something that no _sane_ person would willingly eat.

Fuji paid, then led Tezuka to one of the park benches shaded by a large tree.

Tezuka decided that the quicker he finished his ice cream, the quicker Fuji would reach home, and the quicker he'd be released from this torment, and so he had finished his scoop of ice cream and was finishing up the cone when he did the stupid and glanced at Fuji. What little bit of waffle cone that remained slipped from his fingers as he stared, enthralled at the sight of Fuji lapping delicately at the tip of the deep rose popsicle.

Fuji pretended not to notice Tezuka staring at him. He innocently swirled his tongue over the glistening tip of his popsicle, then slowly licked up a drop of deep pink that was tracking down the column of the frozen dessert. He ate neatly, making sure that not a single drop managed to reach the thin ice cream stick, his tongue flicking over every inch of the popsicle.

Every now and then, he took a sneak peek of Tezuka from beneath thick lashes, very amused at the darkening crimson stain spreading across his buchou's face. Then Tezuka abruptly looked away. Fuji couldn't have that. After all, there was no point in eating a popsicle in such a manner if no one was watching.

So he gave a little moan of pleasure. "Tezuka, with it so hot outside, this tastes so good."

He noticed Tezuka blushed even more, but still refused to look his way.

"Would you like to try some?" He crooned, offering it towards Tezuka. "It's _really_ nice."

"No thanks," Tezuka muttered, sounding half strangled.

"Are you sure?" Fuji leaned over until Tezuka had no choice but to look at him. "It tastes wonderful." He licked his lips innocently for extra effect.

"I'll pass."

"Mm, your loss then," Fuji purred, seemingly returning to his seat, yet somehow managing to sit closer to Tezuka. "I'll enjoy it all by myself, since you don't want any.

"You go ahead and do that."

Fuji was glad to see that Tezuka was still looking in his general direction. He parted his lips and sucked gently on the tip of the popsicle, and took in a little bit more of the frozen treat. He saw Tezuka's eyes widen slightly and thought, _this is so much fun_.

Enjoying torturing Tezuka, he let a faint blush colour his cheeks and he continued eating his popsicle. He paused from the sucking every now and again to lap at the lower end of the popsicle that was starting to melt from the heat. Then as he resuming sucking at his popsicle, he let loose an occasional moan or sigh, cheekbones wonderfully shaded rose-pink.

Tezuka tried, but failed, to tear his eyes away from the beautifully obscene picture of Fuji enjoying his popsicle. For a brief moment, he wondered how it could be that he was becoming jealous of Fuji's popsicle, but then he shook that little thought aside. Enough was enough. Tezuka stood up.

"Fuji, it's getting late. We should hurry."

Fuji paused, reddened lips still tightly wrapped around his popsicle. Then he slowly slid the treat out of his mouth with a wet sucking sound. Tezuka winced slightly as he felt himself go hard at the sound. The tensai smacked his lips together with relish. "It hasn't been that long, Tezuka," he murmured.

Tezuka couldn't help but stare, fixated on Fuji's lips. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought Fuji to be wearing lipstick. The popsicle had dyed his lips a lush shade of pink. On any other boy, it would have looked absolutely ridiculous, but on Fuji…the tensai looked ready to be thrown onto the ground and kissed senseless. And then some. Those kissable lips were moving…

Tezuka mentally shook himself out of those self-destructive thoughts. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Fuji smiled with understanding. "I said that it hasn't been _that_ long since we left school. It's still pretty early."

"I have to be home early today," Tezuka lied, poker-faced. Unfortunately, his skills were no where as good as Fuji's, and the tensai saw through his lie easily enough.

"Mm, alright then." He stood up and continued eating his popsicle as he sauntered off in the direction of his house. Then he turned around and said sweetly, "Tezuka, I thought you had to hurry? Why are you still standing there?"

Tezuka stopped staring at Fuji's ass, blushing that he'd been caught staring—blushing that he'd _been_ staring in the first place—and strode towards Fuji, intent on dropping the tensai off at his house as soon as was humanly possible.

Along the way, Tezuka wondered how Fuji could calmly finish his popsicle in the same manner when walking along public sidewalks. It was one thing to eat like that on a secluded bench beneath a tree, but it was a far different thing altogether to do the same on the streets, where any passer-by could see. Fuji, as far as Tezuka was concerned, had absolutely no shame whatsoever.

They reached Fuji's house in record time, Tezuka having covered the distance in amazing time with his long legs. Fuji had finished his popsicle minutes ago, but was happily sucking on the pale tan-coloured stick.

"You _will_ help me bring my bag to my room, won't you?" Fuji asked, pouting slightly when all Tezuka did was stand at the threshold of the house.

"It's only a short distance. I don't think it'll do your injury any further damage."

_Damn._

"I suppose you're right," Fuji acceded. "Still, come in. It's so hot, I should offer you a drink and a chance to cool off for awhile." He didn't wait for Tezuka to reply, yanking the startled buchou inside instead.

With alarming speed, Fuji shut the door. Tezuka was trapped.

"You might as well help me put my bag in my room, since you're here," Fuji said with a bright smile. "I'll bring you a drink." He smiled at Tezuka, his face revealing nothing but that sunny smile, until the stoic team captain trudged towards his room. Only then did Fuji disappear into the kitchen.

* * *

Tezuka set Fuji's tennis bag down and took a seat on the chair positioned before the lone television set in the middle of Fuji's room. How on _earth_ had Fuji managed to get him to walk him home, let alone get him into his room? Tezuka had to give his team mate some credit; Fuji really _was_ a genius.

He stared idly at the assorted species of cacti scattered at various high points in Fuji's room. He was fascinated by the colour of one particular one. It had a brightly-coloured bulb the same shade as Fuji's popsicle. And then a thought entered his mind.

_Cactus-flavoured popsicle?_

Did such a flavour even _exist_? He didn't want to speculate too much upon that. Sometimes Fuji ate the weirdest things. So far, the tensai's affection for wasabi sushi had been the most normal habit Tezuka had witnessed.

Thoughts of Fuji's eccentric culinary tastes led to Tezuka wondering just what kind of 'drink' Fuji was preparing for him. He shuddered. Deciding that he wanted to live to enter high school, Tezuka stood up, grabbed his bag, and opened the door.

Fuji was standing just in front of the doorway, hand poised to depress the handle. Then he smiled graciously. "Why, thank you, Tezuka. Why are you carrying your bag?" His smile was innocent and quizzical. "Surely you weren't going to leave just like that? You just got here."

He walked in, leaving Tezuka little choice but to walk back into his room. Fuji nudged his TV remotes aside and placed the tray on the small table before his TV-chair. Then he slipped the bag strap off Tezuka's shoulder and gently took his buchou by the hand and led him to the drinks.

Tezuka eyed the glasses warily. Just because Inui was the club's resident mad juice chef didn't mean that anything Fuji made was safe to drink. He had a feeling that the tensai could be, and _was_, far worse thank Inui.

"It's just juice, Tezuka."

"So are Inui's concoctions, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous."

"Ah, good point." Fuji reached for his glass and drank deeply from it. "See? Perfectly safe."

Tezuka raised his brow elegantly. "If I recall correctly, you drink all of Inui's juices like that."

"Not _all_." Fuji placed the glass back onto the tray, his brow furrowing slightly at the memory. "There _was_ the Aozu… Ah, but you were in Germany at that time, so you wouldn't have known."

Oh, kami-sama, Inui had managed to mix up something that could knock even _Fuji_ out? The data tennis player was more dangerous than Tezuka had thought after all.

Fuji handed Tezuka the glass of clear liquid. It was only when the rim of the glass was a breath away from Tezuka's lips that he realized two things: one was that Fuji had somehow managed to coax him into drinking the glass's contents; and two, that said contents were the same shade of fuchsia as Fuji's popsicle had been, which had been the same colour as the cactus on Fuji's windowsill. He hastily handed Fuji back the glass.

"What's in it? Nothing in nature is this colour."

"Flowers are," Fuji replied, but waved the point aside. "I assure you, Tezuka, it's perfectly safe to drink. I drink it all the time." Before Tezuka was able to bring up the issue of Inui's poisonous juices again, Fuji continued, "And so does Yuuta when he comes home, although he likes it far less than I do."

Fuji's brother drank it too? As far as he knew, the elder Fuji brother had inherited all the madness, and that Fuji Yuuta was more or less normal. Grudgingly, he took back the glass. He sniffed it. It smelled…sweet.

"If the colour really bothers you so much, you could just close your eyes and drink it." Tezuka only glared at Fuji. Fuji shrugged, "Come on, just one sip?"

"No."

Fuji stood up and removed Tezuka's glasses, placing them beside the tray.

"What are you do-"

Then the tensai covered Tezuka's eyes with one hand, and took the drink away with the other. "Mm, now say 'ah', buchou," Fuji purred.

"I am _not_ letting you-" He was silenced when warm, wet lips descended onto his own. Then Fuji parted his lips and let the sweet liquid flow into Tezuka's mouth. He stroked Tezuka's throat soothingly, coaxing the buchou to swallow. But he didn't remove his mouth from Tezuka's. Instead, he touched the tip of his tongue against Tezuka's, removing his hand from his buchou's eyes.

_He tastes like cherries…_

Tezuka stiffened as Fuji shyly probed his mouth with his tongue, then relaxed slightly when his eyes were uncovered. He opened his eyes a tiny crack and saw Fuji looking back at him, jewel-hued eyes open and staring. Then those brilliantly blue eyes fluttered shut, and he felt slender fingers comb through his hair.

Fuji wrapped his arms around Tezuka's neck, fingers playing with pale-honey hair as he explored Tezuka's mouth. After a moment of hesitation, he felt Tezuka rest one hand at the nape of his neck. The other alighted at his hip seconds later, sliding up beneath his shirt to the small of his back. Tezuka's touch on his bare skin sent sizzling jolts of electricity tingling up his spine, and he moaned from the odd sensation. Then Tezuka pulled away just a fraction.

"You taste of cherries," he whispered.

"Mm, that ice cream parlour _does_ sell normal flavours as well," Fuji replied. "But you have to _ask_ for it."

Tezuka felt Fuji nudge him in a certain direction, rubbing their bodies together as he manoeuvred Tezuka towards heaven knew where. At that very moment, Tezuka wasn't very concerned as to where Fuji was leading him. It could have been off a cliff for all he cared. And then Fuji gave him a hard shove.

Hazel eyes flew open with surprise, and Tezuka landed with an undignified 'oomph' on his back on Fuji's bed. And in an instant, Fuji was above him, knees straddling his hips, hands planted on either side of his head. Then Fuji slowly lowered himself just enough to brush his lips against Tezuka's. He flicked his tongue, tasting Tezuka's moist lips.

"Do you like cherries, Tezuka?" He asked, his silken voice mesmerizing, ocean-blue eyes hypnotic.

Tezuka was stunned to find himself automatically replying, "Only on your lips."

Fuji smiled slyly, liking Tezuka's response. "It's such a nice flavour, especially in sweets and desserts." He brushed his lips down Tezuka's neck until he reached the little notch between Tezuka's collarbones. There, he lapped felinely, fascinated by the mildly salty taste of Tezuka's skin. He searched upwards until he felt the steady, if rapid, throb of Tezuka's pulse. He scraped the skin there gently with his teeth, sucked at the steady beating like a vampire taking sustenance.

Whilst distracting Tezuka with his mouth and teeth, Fuji unbuttoned Tezuka's shirt. One hand caressed Tezuka's skin, while the other toyed with the flat disc of one rapidly stiffening nipple. Tezuka moaned and arched his body against Fuji's hands. His skin just brushed Fuji's shirt. Overly sensitized, the brief touch of fabric on skin had Tezuka arching his neck, exposing more of his neck for Fuji.

Fuji looked up from the livid lovebite, taking in the sight of Tezuka laid out before him like a feast. He turned his attentions to the other nipple, watching as Tezuka bit down slightly on his lower lip to keep from crying out.

"Mm, very sensitive here, are we?" He bent down once more, placing his lips beside Tezuka's ear. "Want to know what I was thinking when I was eating that popsicle?"

"You weren't eating it," Tezuka muttered through gritted teeth.

"Oh? Then, pray tell, what was I doing?" Fuji nuzzled tangled dark honey-blond hair.

"Torturing me."

"Mm, very perceptive." He slid away until he was seated between Tezuka's thighs. Then he unbuttoned Tezuka's pants, pulling the zipper down with his teeth.

"Kami-sama," Tezuka breathed.

"I know what you were thinking just now, Tezuka. Your face is an open book for me." Fuji slid the trousers down, then widened his eyes in surprise. "No underwear, Tezuka?"

"They disappeared from my locker. I wonder how that could have happened."

Fuji laughed. "Wasn't me. Really, it wasn't. But I must find out who did it and thank them for it." There was a gleam in his eyes as he bent his head down and licked.

"FUJI!"

"Now you don't have to be jealous of a stick of flavoured ice," Fuji murmured, his breath sending more sensations flooding Tezuka's body.

"I wasn't _that_ obvious!" Tezuka protested.

"Yes, you were." Fuji returned to the task at hand, mimicking his previous actions with the popsicle.

"Stop, and I swear I'll kill you with laps!" Tezuka threatened when Fuji paused halfway.

Fuji gave him a mischievous smile. "Ah, I was only going to do this." And Fuji swooped down and took his entire length into his mouth.

Tezuka clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists in the sheets. His mouth was open in a scream, but the only sound that came out was a slow, sensuous moan. Then Fuji hummed, the vibrations sending thrills up his spine, and this time, Tezuka did scream.

His hands left the sheets and flew to Fuji's head, resting tenderly on the fawn-brown strands. Fuji possessed a very acrobatic tongue, and he demonstrated its skills as he bobbed up and down. His fingers working on autopilot, Tezuka stroked Fuji's hair as the latter licked and lapped and sucked.

Then he was enclosed in Fuji's hot, wet mouth again. The tensai swallowed, and Tezuka felt himself explode. He tried hard not to, but found himself thrusting into Fuji's mouth. Fuji's name was a long, shuddering moan on his lips as he came. He expected the tensai to pull away, but Fuji swallowed, throat working convulsively, milking Tezuka for all he was worth.

* * *

Tezuka lay limp on his back, eyes shut. He could still see starbursts of electric colour behind his eyelids. He didn't think he could move a muscle in his body. He felt the brush of fabric at his side, then his arm. Fuji curled up beside him, still fully dressed, draping an arm across his heaving chest.

"It's so much fun seducing you, Tezuka," he purred.


	2. Hyotei Gakuen

It was Sunday morning, and though Tezuka was usually an early riser, he was tired, having gone to bed at an absurd time the previous night. The person to blame was sleeping beside him, or rather, half draped over him. He stroked Fuji's hair, absently marvelling at the dazzling array of colours that appeared whenever sunlight hit it. He was musing over the series of events that had taken place the night before that had led to Fuji sleeping over, when a muted tune began playing, startling him.

He recognized the tune. It was the ringtone from Fuji's cell phone. He tried to rummage around for it without waking the sleeping tensai up, but failed. Fuji wasn't that sound a sleeper, although he _did_ sleep deeper than Tezuka did.

"Mm, 'Mitsu?" Fuji mumbled, his sleep-slurred voice a sexy drawl.

"Your phone's ringing."

"Oh." Fuji slowly pried himself off Tezuka and reached down, past the edge of the bed. He nudged aside a hastily discarded pair of pants and withdrew a cell phone, its backlight blinking on and off. He pressed the call button and answered, voice still thick with sleep. "Fuji Syuusuke."

Tezuka heard a voice speaking on the other end—it was loud enough for him to make out an excited squeal of "Fuji-kun!" He wondered why on earth Hyotei's volley specialist was calling Fuji, not to mention so early in the morning.

* * *

Tezuka was serving when he heard a familiar chant. He caught the ball and gestured for his opponent to wait a moment while he dealt with the distraction. He walked over to the court entrance, not noticing that the rest of the tennis club had also heard the noise and had stopped practicing along with him.

"Ore-sama no bigi ni yoina!"

Tezuka sighed and leaned his racket by the wall. "Atobe, why are you here?"

"Ore-sama can go anywhere he pleases," Atobe replied, in his best 'let's-humour-the-peon' voice. It was so fun to irritate Seigaku's stern-faced buchou.

"You're disrupting our practice. If you have no good reason to be here, please leave."

Atobe pretended to look affronted. He looked away, nose in the air, and said with a hurt huff, "I'm insulted. What a way to speak to someone about to invite you to a birthday party."

"What?"

"Kabaji, the envelopes," he said, still in his offended lord-of-the-manor pose.

"Usu," the brown-skinned behemoth said. He dug inside his backpack and withdrew nine pristine envelopes. He handed the stack to Atobe, who took them and fanned them out like playing cards with one quick movement.

"I'm holding a party this Saturday, to celebrate ore-sama's birthday, and your team's invited." Atobe presented the thick, creamy-coloured envelopes to Tezuka. "Be honoured, Tezuka, we'll be celebrating yours as well." He shrugged, the gesture both arrogant and elegant. "You're only three days younger than me, anyway."

Oh, right, his birthday was next Tuesday. He'd totally forgotten about it. Then he remembered Fuji asking him the day before to keep his weekend free, and realized that his boyfriend hadn't.

A slender hand appeared suddenly into his field of vision and took the pale envelopes. He looked over to the owner of the arm and saw Fuji smiling, the tensai's smile free of the malice that he had been expecting. He wondered why Fuji was so happy when his plans to celebrate Tezuka's birthday had been spoiled.

"We'll be glad to attend your birthday party, Atobe," the tensai said smoothly. "It's rather sweet of you to remember Tezuka's birthday too."

"Your buchou's a fun opponent to play against," Atobe replied with an indolent shrug.

"Who else will be there, if you don't mind my asking?"

Atobe thought for a moment, mentally tallying up all the invites he had sent out—some personally, some not. "Hyotei, of course, will be in attendance. So far I've received confirmation from Yamabuki's Sengoku and Akutsu—who will, of course, be bringing along his little boyfriend—as well as Fudomine's Tachibana, Ibu and Kamio. Rokkaku's entire team will be there, as will Saint Rudolph—save Kaneda and Nomura." Atobe noticed the tensai's eyes narrow at the mention of Saint Rudolph and was glad that he had invited them.

"That's all?"

Atobe sniffed with disdain. "Of course not! There's Seigaku, of course. I've also invited Rikkai, but I doubt their captain will be able to make it."

Not very happy that Mizuki was going to be there, Fuji said, "But that just means that you'll have Sanada all to yourself." Atobe scowled at him.

"Fuji, why have you stopped practicing?" Tezuka interrupted, feeling the tension in the air. He had no real wish to see his boyfriend and his rival facing off over a small thing like Atobe's on-again-off-again boyfriend. There weren't many who _didn't_ know about Sanada and Atobe, but you didn't talk about it, all the same.

"Nobody else is," Fuji pointed out.

Tezuka looked around and found that everybody was, indeed, watching the two buchous and lone tensai. He arched one slim brow, and his glasses gleamed as he said, "Everybody, thirty laps now, for slacking off!" Then he turned back to Fuji. "This means you too."

"Mm, I'm terrified," Fuji murmured.

"Fuji…" Tezuka said, his tone enough warning that if the tensai didn't get moving, the laps were going to multiply.

"Mou, Tezuka, always so strict," Fuji purred. He handed the invites to Tezuka. "We're all going," he told Atobe, before he left to run his laps.

"Has you on a leash already, doesn't he?" Atobe smirked.

"Atobe, if you _really_ wanted me to get Fuji and Inui to help me bake you a birthday cake, all you had to do was ask."

Atobe stared for a moment, then snickered. "I'll be damned, I think that was actually an attempt at a joke." With everyone too busy running laps, Atobe patted Tezuka's shoulder reassuringly. "It was only a matter of time anyway, Tezuka."

He walked off, then looked back with a grin. "I'll have a room prepared for you and your tensai in case you both feel like…staying over."

Tezuka was rather proud that he resisted the overwhelming urge to slam his head repeatedly into the chain-link fence. The idea involving Fuji and Inui's combined culinary skills suddenly held great appeal.

* * *

Saturday came swiftly, and on the morning of Atobe's party, Tezuka wondered just how his tensai and Hyotei's diva had managed to get him to attend. Apart, of course, from the fact that it was also partly his own birthday celebration and that it would have be downright rude not to attend. Getting Atobe a birthday present had _not_ been easy. After all, what did one get for a boy rich enough to have whatever he wanted?

Fuji had _made_ him follow him shopping though, and helped Tezuka pick out a reasonably suitable present for the affluent diva. Said presents were also being wrapped by Fuji, who was amazingly skilled at decorating gifts.

Tezuka was ready to leave, and he couldn't understand why Fuji was taking so long. Sometimes, his boyfriend acted so much like a girl—plus he looked pretty enough to pass off as one as well—that it was downright scary.

"Fuji, are you ready yet?" He asked, uttering a phrase that had been passed down through the generations ever since man began dating woman—and men who had a tendency to act like women.

"Give me a minute, 'Mitsu!" Tezuka sighed, and decided to find out what was taking Fuji so long.

"Fuji, what's taking you so lo-" His words caught in his throat as he stared at Fuji. "You are _not_ wearing that."

"Why not?"

Tezuka stared pointedly at the skin-tight leather showcasing his boyfriend's slender legs. And excellent ass. It was tight enough for Tezuka to realize that there was no way that Fuji was able to wear any form of underwear without the seams being seen. "Fuji, you're not wearing any-"

Fuji sauntered towards him and leaned into Tezuka until their chests were brushing. "Underwear?" He finished for Tezuka. His smile was slow and sly. "Want to find out for yourself?" He asked, his breath hot on Tezuka's cheek.

"We're already going to be late," Tezuka managed to say.

"Exactly, so what's another half hour?" Fuji purred, trailing one finger down Tezuka's arm.

Tezuka managed to shove aside the fog of lust clouding his brain and kissed Fuji's cheek. "Atobe said he'd have a room prepared for us in case we wanted to, uh, stay over," he said, willing to say anything to prevent them from being any later. No doubt Atobe would guess the reason for their late arrival. And then there would be no living with him.

Fuji opened his eyes in surprise. Then he laughed. "Why, Kunimitsu, I would never have expected to ever hear you say something like that." He returned the chaste kiss. "All right, then, I'll wait." He walked back to his bag, and when he smiled again, it was tinged with a bit of sadistic glee. "By the way, 'Mitsu," he said from across the room. "You're right. I'm _not_ wearing any underwear."

* * *

Jiroh mentally paced, as he waited for the rest of Atobe's guests to arrive—he couldn't really pace around the room, since he was supposed to be perpetually asleep. Most of the guests were already here, but there were still a few who were late. Atobe did _not_ like late-comers. But then again, two of the late-comers were Seigaku's tensai and buchou, and Atobe was pretty tolerant when it came to them. Jiroh, unfortunately, was _not_ as tolerant, since the tensai was one of the guests he was waiting so eagerly for.

Outwardly, he looked like he was simply shifting in his sleep, as he tried not to fidget too much. Where _was_ that boy?

_Probably busy jumping Tezuka_, he thought with some envy. He wondered how _his_ buchou would react if Jiroh jumped him. Probably sic Sanada on him, Jiroh mused glumly. This was his last chance to safely lure Atobe away from Sanada. He'd delayed and failed too many times, and Yukimura was _not_ happy. There was only so much the incapacitated buchou of Rikkai could do while in hospital. The rest was up to him.

Where was Fuji?

Then the doorbell rang, the musical peal floating through the air discreetly. Jiroh perked up, although to the untrained eye, it seemed as if he'd found a particularly uncomfortable spot and was trying to get comfy. Atobe's butler inconspicuously announced Tezuka and Fuji, and Jiroh fought the urge to immediately leap off the sofa and onto Fuji. He waited until they were closer before mock-sleepily cracking one eye open, then yawning and blinking tiredly.

As if only just noticing Fuji, he widened his eyes, shedding sleep like a duck shaking off water, and bounced to his feet.

"Fuji-kun!" He exclaimed, his tone excited, as it always was around Seigaku's tensai. He draped his arms around Fuji, finding the way Tezuka scowled very funny. "You're so cool, Fuji-kun! What about a match? I brought my racket, and if you didn't bring one, I could lend you my spare, or I'm sure Atobe would lend you one of his!"

Fuji didn't bother peeling the seemingly bipolar volley specialist off, enjoying the irritation and poorly concealed jealousy on Tezuka's face. "Ah, Jiroh-san, it's Atobe's birthday. I think it would be rather disrespectful to wander off on such an occasion, ne?"

"Atobe won't mind, I'm sure!" Jiroh insisted. He peered at the gift bag that Fuji was carrying. "Ne, is that Atobe's present? What is it? Can I take a look? Tell me!"

Fuji laughed. "It's wrapped up, so I don't think you could tell what's inside even if I took it out of the bag. And I'm not telling you what it is, because I'm sure somehow Atobe will find out what it is if I do." And then, in a seemingly innocent gesture, he moved his mouth closer to Jiroh's ear. "Akutagawa, I think you're overdoing the hyper bit just a little."

Jiroh pretended not to have heard Fuji say anything. Instead, he simply looked disappointed. "Fuji-kun, you're cool, but no fun at all!" He grabbed the cushion that he had been lying on from the sofa, then flounced off, in search or either more fun, or a different place to sleep.

"What was _that_ all about?" Tezuka hissed, once Jiroh was out of sight.

Fuji pretended not to know what he was talking about. "What was what, 'Mitsu?"

"You, and Akutagawa," he snorted, eyes narrowed.

Fuji chuckled, pressing closer to Tezuka. "Mm, 'Mitsu, are you jealous?" He asked, peering up at Tezuka through partially lowered lashes.

"You're doing all of this on purpose, aren't you?"

Fuji smiled angelically. "I have no idea what you're talking about." With a slightly evil grin, he twitched his hips against Tezuka's groin, then sauntered off with an excuse about seeing if he could help out with any last-minute preparations.

_What did I do to deserve this torment?_ Tezuka couldn't help but wonder, even as he stared appreciatively at his boyfriend's gently swaying butt.

* * *

Atobe wasn't really upset that Tezuka and Fuji had been late. After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't already expected it. But he _was_ fuming over someone else's late arrival. That someone else had yet to arrive, although the rest of his team mates had.

_Sanada, where the _hell_ are you?_ He scowled as Jiroh offered him a glass of punch. "No thanks," he said curtly. Focused only on Sanada's absence, he missed the look of jealousy and hurt that crossed the volley specialist's face.

"It's pretty good," Jiroh tried again. "Just one glass? I'm sure you'll like it."

Really annoyed at not being able to mope, Atobe glared at Jiroh. "And you _dare_ presume to know what ore-sama would like?" With a dismissive shrug, his said, "Go find a nice, soft place to light and go and sleep or something."

For a moment, Jiroh stared at his buchou in shocked hurt. Then his eyes narrowed and he slammed the glass down on the table before Atobe. Some of its contents splashed beyond the rim and onto the gleaming polished surface of the table. He didn't bother to wait for Atobe to regain his senses, angrily storming away instead.

Atobe watched as Jiroh marched off, then glanced at the glass of punch. He'd never seen Jiroh so angry before. The volley specialist usually had only two moods: sleepy, or excited. Jiroh wasn't the type to get angry over words said in frustrated haste. In fact, he was actually rather patient with Atobe. Even Oshitari tended to tune him out after awhile. Kabaji…well, Atobe didn't assume that his team mate-slash-bodyguard-slash-yes-man was brainless, but sometimes he had no idea if Kabaji was capable of sentient thought. But Jiroh always happily listened to him—unless, of course, he fell asleep. But that was quite a normal occurrence, so Atobe never let it bother him.

He picked up the glass, and sniffed its contents suspiciously. You could never really trust a random gift. _Especially one from _Hyotei, Atobe mused. The Trojans did, and look where it got _them_. Even if it was from a team mate. Then again, it was Jiroh, who seemed to be able to give Ohtori a run for him money when it came to guilelessness.

It smelt okay, just fruity, with a hint of something else that didn't seem out of place. But there were such things as scentless substances.

He touched the tip of his tongue to one of the droplets spattering one side of the glass. It tasted…

Actually, it tasted pretty good.

Interested, he took a small sip from the pinkish-peach-coloured concoction. It was a little bit too sweet for his liking, but it was nothing a few cubes of ice couldn't remedy. The blend of fruit juices and sparkling soda was very well done. He couldn't quite list what was inside, but it blended very smoothly together. He thought he tasted a faint hint of alcohol, but it was so minute that he didn't really bother about it. He wondered if he could get the recipe for his cook. He loved fruit cocktails, and they were so nice to drink on hot days, when all others were out in the sun hitting tennis balls and running laps.

Suddenly, he felt rather bad about snapping at Jiroh. But then he heard a distant voice announce Sanada, and the extremely rare impulse to apologize vanished. He leaned back into the sofa and sipped his punch. There was no need to hunt down Sanada. The Rikkai player would come and find him eventually.

And Sanada did. But only after Atobe had refilled his glass about four times.

"Atobe," Sanada said shortly.

Atobe pretended not to have heard Sanada. He continued watching his guests mill around, sipping his fifth glass of punch.

"There was a traffic jam on the way from the hospital," Sanada continued, knowing what Atobe was doing.

Atobe turned sharply to glare at Sanada. His boyfriend—although they were currently in the 'off-again' stage of their relationship—had been late because he had been visiting his buchou? Had Rikkai's team captain been anyone else, Atobe wouldn't have cared, but said captain was _Yukimura_. And Atobe _had_ kind of stolen Sanada away from the indigo-haired buchou—even if there hadn't been anything official between them at the time.

"How _dare_ you arrive late for ore-sama's birthday party!" He asked, furious.

"Yukimura said he wasn't feeling very well. I had to find the doctor to make sure he wasn't suffering from any complications."

"Sometimes I think you like Yukimura more than _me_!"

Sanada sighed in exasperation. Yukimura was a very sore point between them. But ensuring Rikkai's future victory was more important than soothing Atobe's ruffled feathers. "If Yukimura loses the ability to play tennis, it will break him. Tennis is his life. I can't let that happen."

Atobe downed the last of his punch and slammed the empty glass on the table. "I can_not_ stand you!" He snarled. "Yukimura this, Yukimura that!" He stood up and glared at Sanada. "_It's my birthday today!_"

Sanada knew what Atobe was up to, but was surprised to see a hint of hurt in the diva's glittering eyes. "Atobe, Yukimura is a close friend. I have to take care of him."

"Don't you use that patronising tone with me! You spend more time with him than you do with me! He has his family to take care of him, you don't _have_ to be with him every moment of every day!"

Very surprised by Atobe's fury—since the diva, while occasionally melodramatic, wasn't one to frequently raise his voice, especially not with others around—Sanada didn't have anything to say in reply.

"It's true, isn't it?" Atobe growled.

"What's true?"

"You've decided to go back to Yukimura."

"I was never with Yukimura to begin w-"

Atobe's cheeks were flushed with anger and he leaned forward to speak into Sanada's face. "Nobody, and I mean _nobody_, dumps Atobe Keigo!"

"Atobe," Sanada sighed in frustration. "I'm not dumping you, and besides, we're not even really going out anymore. Furthermore, Yukimura has nothing to do with this."

"Don't you _mention_ his name to me!"

Sanada smelt something and sniffed. "Atobe," he said with growing realization. "Have you been drinking?"

"Don't change the subject! If you mention _his_ name to me one more time-"

Sanada glanced at the empty glass sitting on the table. He wondered what had been in it. There was no mistaking the whiff of alcohol in Atobe's breath.

"You're underage, you know," he sighed. "And I think you're on your way towards getting drunk."

"I am _not_ remotely drunk!" Atobe protested heatedly. "And who cares if ore-sama is underage? It's _my_ house!"

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Atobe. Really, I think you do." He reached for Atobe's shoulder, but Hyotei's buchou slapped his hand away.

"Don't _touch_ me!"

Sanada wondered if he'd ever had to deal with anyone so childish in his entire life. He knew that Atobe was beginning to suffer the effects of alcohol, but still… "I think you should just relax and lie down somewhere for a little while," he began, but was interrupted by Jiroh.

"What do you think you're doing to Atobe?"

Atobe blinked curiously at Jiroh, having never heard Jiroh speak in that tone of voice before. The blond volley specialist's voice was hard and flat, simmering with anger. He wondered why Jiroh was so upset with Sanada—infuriating as the Rikkai student could be sometimes—when it was _he_, Atobe, who had pissed him off earlier.

"I think he's getting a bit drunk," Sanada tried to explain to the frowning Hyotei player.

"Sanada, I think you'd better leave him to me now," Jiroh said warningly.

"Gladly. He's not very reasonable in his current state." He took a step back when Jiroh glared at him. "Well, he _isn't_. All I did was pay my buchou a visit and he snapped."

Jiroh eased a bit of the snarl off his face. "And how is Yukimura?"

"Fine. He's getting better everyday, although he gave me a small scare today when he said he wasn't feeling well." He sighed and glanced at Atobe. "I think I'd better leave now." He ran a hand down Atobe's smooth hair. "Happy birthday, Keigo."

* * *

After Sanada had left, Jiroh glanced at the glass he had given to Atobe earlier. Just how much _had_ Atobe drunk? He knew his buchou liked fruit cocktails and other fruity drinks, but had thought that Atobe would have been too pissed off to really drink a lot of it. Furthermore, he had no idea just how much alcohol Fuji had put inside the punch. He'd said 'enough to loosen Atobe up a bit', but somehow, he had a faint nagging thought that Fuji's estimate of 'just enough' was quite different from his own.

"Atobe, how much punch did you drink?"

"Oh, not too much. You spilt quite a bit when you slammed the glass down, you know. Only about…five glasses."

_Five glasses?..._ Oh dear. He only hoped that Atobe had a good tolerance for alcohol. There was no telling how much he had ingested, since Seigaku's tensai could be rather evil at times. He took Atobe's hand in his. "Come on, Atobe. I think we should get you to your room before anything happens.

"Okay," Atobe agree without protest. He quite amiably followed Jiroh, not caring how the blond knew the way to his room. "I want another glass of punch," he said halfway along the way.

"I think you've had quite enough."

"Ore-sama wants punch. _Now._"

Perhaps Sanada had been right about Atobe not being very reasonable. But then again, Atobe was always giving orders like this anyway.

"Jiroh…" Atobe batted his eyelashes at him. "Just one more glass? It tastes really good. Who made it?"

"Uh, I'll tell you another time." When Atobe continued staring pleadingly at him, he sighed. "Only one more."

He returned with a fresh glass of punch, but didn't hand it to Atobe. "You can have it when you're safe in your room." With that, he continued leading the mildly inebriated buchou to his room.

Atobe's room was plush and very comfortable. Jiroh would know, since he loved falling asleep in here. Thankfully Atobe didn't know that, since Jiroh had made an agreement with Kabaji. The giant wouldn't reveal to Atobe exactly where he'd found Jiroh sleeping, and Jiroh wouldn't let it be known to the tennis team that Kabaji was smarter than they thought.

Jiroh sat on the bed and patted the space beside him.

"I'm not tired."

"Don't you want your drink?"

Atobe snorted, a little bit more sober now. "You'll just mother me and say that I should rest a bit. I'm not drunk, Jiroh. Just a bit…high."

Jiroh rolled his eyes. Now _that_ was an understatement. Atobe's emotions and moods were _all over_ the place, although he _did _seem a bit better now that Sanada had left. Perhaps… Jiroh smiled inwardly.

He touched the rim of the glass to his lips and smiled slowly. "Hm, Atobe, are you _sure_ you don't want your drink?" He took a minute sip of it, thankful that he'd had Fuji whip this glass up with _very_ little alcohol in it.

"Hey, it's mine!" Atobe protested.

"Then come here and get it." Jiroh held the glass up temptingly for Atobe to see. "Nice and chilled and sweet." He shifted his position and ended up spilling a few drops of it. Eyes fixed on Atobe, he conscientiously licked up the drops, pink tongue trailing up the side of the cold glass. "Tastes so good, ne Atobe?" He murmured.

"Now _you're_ acting drunk," Atobe retorted, but still not able to take his eyes off Jiroh and the glass of spiked punch.

"Hmm? Well, maybe just a bit high, ne?" Jiroh replied, throwing Atobe's words back at him. He leaned backwards slightly, forgetting that the wall wasn't behind him. He managed to right himself before really spilling the punch, but a small splash was trickling down the side of the glass. "Whoops!" He ran a finger up the glass, wiping a clean trail through the punch.

Teasingly slow, he lapped the punch off his finger, tongue swirling to clean the sticky digit. Then he sucked it with a small, feline smile. Atobe was beginning to turn a lovely shade of red, although Jiroh wasn't very sure if it was because of him, or the alcohol.

"Mm, Atobe, you look a little hot there. He set the glass on the floor and walked over to Atobe. He trailed his fingertips over the reddened skin of Atobe's neck. "Yeah, you're feeling a bit hot." He undid the first button, and then the second, on Atobe's shirt. "Feeling a bit better now?"

"Not really," Atobe said in a strangled voice. He felt strangely light-headed as Jiroh 'ahh'ed and undid another two buttons. Then the curly-haired blond ran his fingers down Atobe's chest.

"You still feel very…hot," Jiroh murmured, pausing in his movements. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Atobe's throat. "You're starting to sweat a bit."

"Ore-sama does not sweat outside of tennis," Atobe replied, sounding even more stifled than before.

"Oh?" Jiroh licked the hollow between Atobe's collarbones. "I think you are." He resumed his previously abandoned task of unbuttoning Atobe's buttons—not that there were all that many to undo, since he'd already slipped four buttons out of their holes.

"Jiroh, what do you think you're doing?" Atobe asked, with growing apprehension, as Jiroh nudged the edges of his shirt aside. But his voice lacked its usual imperious tone, sounding more curiously perturbed than actually commanding.

"Getting rid of your shirt," Jiroh replied, not stopping as he slid the sleeves off his buchou's shoulders and down a pair of strong arms. The shirt dropped to the floor in a silken puddle, pooling in a faintly shimmering mass around Atobe's feet. Then he stood back and examined Atobe. He made a few humming noises.

"What?" Atobe demanded.

Jiroh returned to stand before Atobe. He dug his fingers into Atobe's hair, then messed up the perfectly styled coiffure until Atobe looked like he'd just woken up.

"Jiroh! Do you have any idea how long it took to get my hair-"

Jiroh decided to shut his ranting buchou up in the most appealing way. He leaned forward and clamped his lips over Atobe's in an exasperated kiss. With tongue. Atobe tasted of fruit juice, with a mild aftertaste of whatever alcohol Fuji had mixed into the cocktail.

Even as he and Atobe duelled for dominance, he ran his hands over Atobe's exposed torso, eventually ending up at pinkish-brown nipples. He brushed them with fingers callused from years of tennis. Atobe gasped, and Jiroh smirked. He plucked the hardening nipple and rubbed it between thumb and index finger. Atobe moaned, surprising even himself with the wanton tone of it.

"Mm, like that, eh, Atobe-_sama_?" Jiroh said, purring the last bit.

Atobe was convinced that Jiroh had imbibed in whatever Sanada had thought he'd been drinking. Honestly, he'd never seen Jiroh act even anywhere _near_ this…'seductive' was the only word that would come to his lust-hazed brain at the moment. And then Jiroh bent lower and captured the pebble-hard nub between his lips and Atobe ceased to think of anything at all.

He made an odd mewling sound as Jiroh suckled and swirled his talented tongue over and around his nipple. Eyes shut and cheeks deeply flushed, he arched his back, pressing closer to Jiroh. With a glint in his eyes, Jiroh, reach down for the front of Atobe's pants and stroked him through the soft linen of the trousers. Unable to form neither coherent thought nor speech, he simply panted Jiroh's name softly, gently stroking the blond curls tickling his chest.

Jiroh smiled as he felt elegant fingers combing through his hair. Atobe could be so sweet sometimes. He shifted his attention to the other much-neglected nipple and undid the button on Atobe's trousers. There was a soft, metallic purr as he slowly tugged the zipper down.

Atobe wore silk boxers.

Not that it was something Jiroh didn't already know. He'd wandered around the diva's room numerous times before, had run his fingers carefully over the fine silk when he'd discovered the shorts in one drawer. But feeling it on Atobe's hard body was another thing altogether. He fondled Atobe through the delicate maroon silk, listening intently to the responses garnered from the stroking caresses, and pleased with every gasp, every hitching breath, every moan that he wrung from those tempting lips.

Jiroh released the berry-red nipple, giving it one last lick before he laid his head on Atobe's chest, listening to his buchou's thundering heartbeat. With a tender smile, he slid to his knees before Atobe, letting his curling hair glide through Atobe's fingers. He ran one finger down the silk-covered length of Atobe's erection, before finally freeing him from the constraints of the silk.

"Mm, Atobe, you're very beautiful," Jiroh whispered, blowing a puff of air onto the reddened head. The tip of his tongue darted forward for a quick taste.

"Jiroh!" The sound was half incredulous cry, half wailing moan. Jiroh grinned and leaned forward slightly for a small kiss. He wasn't very surprised when Atobe thrust into his mouth. He felt Atobe, withdraw, and held his buchou's hips still.

"I didn't mean-I-" Atobe broke off in a long, drawn-out moan when Jiroh lick him from base to tip. "Jiroh, I-I mean, you-"

Jiroh pulled away slightly. "Buchou, you talk too much." He smiled felinely. "Looks like I'll have to find a way to shut you up again." He rose to his feet, for which Atobe was sorely disappointed, and then kissed Atobe again.

When Jiroh finally broke the kiss, Atobe was panting and very surprised to find Jiroh's shirt slipping to the floor. Then the volley specialist took his hands and guided them to the front of his pants.

"Want to find out what's behind there?" Jiroh asked in a husky whisper.

Atobe gulped down the lump in his throat as Jiroh stroked his own chest with his free hand. The blonde's eyes were mostly closed, throat arched and lips parted and he rubbed his own nipples and thrust slowly against Atobe's hand.

"Mm, go ahead, Atobe, we both know you want to." Refusing to let Atobe back out of his little game, Jiroh undid the button for Atobe. "Just the zipper left, Atobe, and then all you have to do is reach inside." He leaned forward, his lips brushing Atobe's ear. "Touch me, Atobe."

Jiroh's words, crooned huskily into his ear, proved too much for Atobe to handle. He forcefully yanked down the zipper of Jiroh's trousers, pushing the garment down to the floor with one foot. He was surprised to find a pair of very familiar-looking silk boxers beneath the discarded pants. He fingered the burnt-saffron silk, examined the discreet print.

"Jiroh, this looks like mine. In fact, very much like the one that went missing from my drawer last week."

"Does it?" Jiroh cursed mentally, wondering how he ever thought that Atobe wouldn't miss the pilfered underwear. He decided that the denial technique probably wasn't going to work well for him. Atobe was way to smart to be taken in by such obvious lies. Instead, he averted his eyes, suddenly shy. "I wondered…" He let a deep blush surface. "I wondered what they'd feel like… If they were really as soft as they looked and felt…" He bit his lower lip as he reached down and rubbed the silk against himself.

"And are they?" Atobe brushed Jiroh's hand aside and began caressing the volley specialist with his own hands.

"Nn! H-Hai…" He drew in a shaky breath and smiled slyly. "If you want it back…you'll have to take it off yourself."

"No, you can keep it." Atobe watched with slightly sadistic glee as Jiroh's smile faded somewhat. But then he saw the embarrassment creeping in, sneaking in behind the furious blush, and he relented. "But I still want it off."

"You're mean, Atobe," Jiroh snorted, his smile returning.

Atobe slid one hand beneath the elastic waistband of the boxers, deliberately avoiding contact with Jiroh's eager erection. Instead, he rubbed his thumb against the bone jutting out at Jiroh's hip, trailing his thumb down the faint furrow that led from hip to groin.

"Mou, Atobe, don't be such a tease!" Jiroh reached down to guide Atobe to where he wanted to be touched, but Atobe's words stopped him halfway.

"If you be a good boy and stay still, I'll let you have your way with me later."

"Since you put it that way…" Jiroh sighed with pleasure as he felt Atobe's fingers comb through the crinkly hair there, occasionally brushing sensitized skin. "Ne, Atobe?"

"Hn?"

"You… You aren't doing this simply to get me to leave you alone, are you?"

"_What?_" Atobe stopped and glared at Jiroh.

"I mean, you aren't doing this just to humour me, are you?" Jiroh looked away, his blush quickly becoming one of mortification, rather than lust. "It's alright if you don't want to… I never meant to…"

Atobe rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering where the forward, seductive Jiroh who had slipped him spiked drinks had vanished to. He slipped his hand out, at the same time knowing that Jiroh might take it the wrong way. He immediately crushed Jiroh to him and thrust his hips against the blonde's.

"Does _this_ feel like I'm just humouring you, Jiroh?" He snorted with mild derision. "Ore-sama doesn't have to humour anyone. I do what I want, Jiroh." He smiled against Jiroh's heated cheek. "And I think I want _you_."

"Mm, in that case… By all means, Atobe, _do me_." Jiroh tugged the boxers down, since Atobe seemed to have forgotten about the now-damp silk. He kicked the underwear off, and yanked Atobe towards the bed. Unbalanced, Atobe, flailed his arms, trying to grab Jiroh's arm for balance, but the blonde simply swatted Atobe's hands away. He gave Atobe a hard shove, sending the bewildered buchou sprawling all over his plush bed.

Under normal circumstances, Atobe would have ordered whoever pushed him to run laps until the order to stop was given, but he was enjoying this new Jiroh far too much to stop him. Naked, Jiroh padded up the bed, straddling Atobe's hips with his knees.

"The red only enhances the paleness of your skin," Jiroh murmured, stroking the dark crimson silk. Atobe shifted, trying to get Jiroh's fingers to touch his erection. "You're beautiful, Atobe, really beautiful."

"Of course I am," Atobe said, his breath escaping in a slow hiss when Jiroh's wandering fingers finally found their intended target.

As Jiroh stroked and fondled and brought Atobe to greater and greater heights of pleasure, Atobe absently mused that no wonder Jiroh's racket listen to him and produced such excellent volleys. With hands and fingers like those, who—_what_—wouldn't? Oshitari might be Hyotei's resident tensai, but Jiroh had magic fingers.

Jiroh suddenly stopped, and muttered a long string of curses under his breath. Atobe pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbows. "Jiroh? What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing. Wait a second." The curly-haired blonde slipped off the bed and dived for the piles of clothing on the floor. Atobe watched with amusement as Jiroh rummaged through all the garments in search of something. "Close your eyes, Atobe," Jiroh murmured, his voice finally not as frantic as before.

Deciding that Jiroh wouldn't do anything bad or humiliating to him, unlike most of Hyotei, Atobe obediently shut his eyes. He heard the faint rustling of fabric as Jiroh climbed back up onto the bed, felt the mattress dip slightly, alerting him as to where Jiroh was.

"No peeking, buchou." Jiroh's voice was suddenly by his ear. A callused hand covered his eyes, and Atobe wondered how Jiroh had known that he'd wanted to open his eyes, even just a tiny crack. He felt warm lips touch his in a chaste kiss, and then descend again in a deeper, fiercer kiss. He happily parted his lips, allowing Jiroh entry. He dug his fingers into the thick mass of Jiroh's hair.

_It's really soft, almost like angora, but finer, softer_, he mused. He ran his fingers through the springy golden locks, winding a lock around his fingers every now and again as he accepted Jiroh's kiss.

Suddenly Jiroh broke off, but before he could speak, Atobe felt Jiroh touch one finger to his lips. _Now_ what was the blonde up to? After a moment of stillness and silence, he was about to speak when he felt wet heat enveloping the tip of his erection.

"_Kami-sama, Jiroh!_" He cried out in a mixture of extreme pleasure and surprise. He heard muffled sounds in reply and managed a shaky chuckle. "Jiroh, weren't you taught…not to speak with your mouth…full?" Atobe said, in between pants, as Jiroh took more and more of him into his mouth.

Jiroh massaged Atobe's balls with one hand as he lapped and licked his buchou into a writing frenzy. He noticed, distantly, that Atobe was beyond coherence, since every other thing the buchou was moaning seemed to be his name. With his free hand, he managed to squirt a decent amount of lubricant onto his fingers from the tube he'd finally found in one of the pockets of his trousers. And then he reached back.

"Jiroh, stop it! I _refuse_ to come just like this!" Atobe growled.

Jiroh quirked one eyebrow at him, noticing that Atobe's eyes were still closed. "But you're enjoying it so much." He smiled somewhat evilly. "Who am I to take Atobe-sama away from his pleasure?"

"And what if I demand you to stop?"

"Didn't you just?" Jiroh bent down once more and continued with his chosen task. In between licks, he murmured, "I'll make you come in my mouth, Atobe."

Atobe clenched and unclenched his fists as the throbbing heat became increasingly harder to bear. Against his own will, he began thrusting into that hot, wet cavern. Jiroh didn't do anything to stop him, except maybe to gentle his movements a bit. He tried to hold himself off—it would be too demeaning to let Jiroh see how he could make his buchou come just with his hands and mouth alone—but the blonde refused to allow it.

"Jiroh!" With a final thrust, Atobe let himself go.

* * *

Atobe lay there, dazed, not feeling very inclined to move. He felt Jiroh get off the bed, heard the sound of running water coming from the direction of his private bathroom. Jiroh eventually returned, footfalls barely audible padding on the carpet. He tenderly washed Atobe with a warm, damp cloth. And then he lay down beside Atobe.

"Ne, Atobe?" He whispered, his voice still that erotic purr.

"What?" Atobe muttered, not very pleased that Jiroh _had_ indeed shattered his control.

"Want to go another round?"

"_What?_"

Jiroh nuzzled Atobe's chest, curling hair tickling Atobe as he moved. "Mm, unless you _can't_, then well…"

Atobe's eyes flew open. He glared at Jiroh. "You _dare_-"

Jiroh moved his head up slightly such that he was able to meet Atobe's glare with amused eyes. "I think we've already established what I dare and what I don't dare to do." His tongue darted out from between reddened lips, the tip of which flicked over Atobe's lush lips. "So?" He grinned.

"Ore-sama can match you in _anything_, Jiroh," Atobe said, in his best master-to-servant voice.

"Good." And Atobe suddenly found Jiroh's knees on either side of him again. He blinked with surprise. "I was hoping you'd say something like that, or else all my efforts would have gone to waste."

Jiroh reached down to where Atobe was already semi-hard again. He ran fingers along the veins just beneath the skin, tracing its dark bluish path. Atobe stiffened at the contact. Jiroh laughed. "Yeah, I suppose you really _can_ match me." He leaned forward slightly so that his face was a little bit closer to Atobe. "You know what I was doing just now?"

"Just now, when?"

"When? When I got you off with my mouth." Jiroh licked his lips.

Atobe fisted his hands again, that wanton, seductive look on Jiroh's face… He'd never really considered the blond particularly sexy before, but now… "What _were_ you doing, then?" He asked, speaking the word through gritted teeth.

Satisfied that Atobe was fully hard once more, Jiroh leaned away from his buchou. "Getting myself ready for you, so that I could do _this_." He sank down on Atobe's slick erection, impaling himself with a slow moan.

Whatever Atobe had been about to say got stuck in his throat as Jiroh's heat enveloped him. _Oh, kami-sama, he's _tightAtobe grabbed Jiroh's hips and felt the blonde's fingers caress his own.

"Mm, as hard as you like it, Atobe." Jiroh undulated his hips excruciatingly slowly, one hand bringing himself pleasure, the other resting on the bed for balance. "I'm yours for the taking." He raised himself until only the tip of Atobe lay inside him, and then sank down again. "You fit so well…"

"Mine for the taking, Jiroh?"

Jiroh smiled felinely. "You were such a good boy just now, buchou. Let's call this a reward." He sighed as a slow bolt of pleasure arrowed throughout his body. "So, anyway you want it, this time." He was laughing even as Atobe flipped him onto his back. "This way, is it, buchou?" Atobe slipped out of him, and Jiroh blinked in confusion.

"On your knees, Jiroh. Now."

"Hm? Oh, okay." The smile returned. So that's the way hi buchou wanted it, was it? He went up on his knees, sitting back with his legs slightly parted. Innocently, he placed his hands behind him.

"Touch yourself."

Jiroh reached for himself, shyly looking up at Atobe through gilt-edged lashes. He rubbed himself with his thumb first, spreading the leaking fluid over himself with slow passes of his thumb. "Mm, it would feel so much better if it was Atobe-sama's hand, though…" Then he wrapped his fingers around himself with a slight shudder and shut his eyes.

Atobe watched as Jiroh's cheeks grew increasingly flushed. He noticed the volley specialist's lips moving silently, moving faster as he pumped himself faster, until at last he made a faint noise.

"Atobe-sama…"

All the blood in Atobe's head seemed to have flowed downwards to pool in a certain organ and he coaxed Jiroh to kneel upright. He positioned himself behind the blonde, one hand reaching around to still Jiroh's hand.

"Beg, Jiroh. What do you want?" Atobe bit down on the curve of Jiroh's shoulder. "Let me hear it."

There was a muffled whimper as Jiroh chew on his lip in an effort on to scream Atobe's name. When the urge passed, he sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a shuddering sigh.

"You know what you need, Jiroh, let me hear to beg for it." Atobe stroked Jiroh's loosened hole teasingly with one finger, toying with the lubricant dripping from it.

"You, Atobe, in me, right now. Please?" Jiroh thrust backwards, but Atobe pulled his finger away before it penetrated. He smirked at Jiroh's whine.

"You can do better." He pressed down on Jiroh's upper back, urging the blonde onto his arms as well. "Let me hear you say it."

Jiroh remained silent for a moment, but when the tip of Atobe's finger swirled teasingly in him, he cried out, "Fuck me, Atobe-sama, fuck me _right now_!"

"Good boy, Jiroh." Atobe spread wide the cheeks of Jiroh's ass and thrust deep in. Jiroh's answering moan was long and lingering. "Kami-sama, Jiroh, you're so tight…"

Jiroh clenched himself even tighter, wringing a groan from Atobe. "Buchou, please, don't stop, not now." His breath hitched. "I need it, please."

Atobe's reply was a tight grip and a rough thrust. Figuring that he had tortured his volley specialist enough, he sped up his movements, ramming home hard and deep, hitting Jiroh's prostate on almost every other pass.

"Atobe-sama…_Atobe-sama!_" Jiroh buried his face in the pillow, but Atobe could still hear his muffled scream. Lost in the tight heat, Atobe, let his orgasm wash over him. He collapsed onto the bed, flipping onto his back and bringing Jiroh along with him just in time.

* * *

When he finally came to his senses, he looked down and found Jiroh already asleep. He brushed aside the sweaty curls and pressed a gentle kiss to Jiroh's cheek. "That was a very nice birthday present, Jiroh. Thank you."

Jiroh barely stirred enough to speak. "It was fun seducing you anyway."

Atobe snorted. "_You_ seduce _me_?" But Jiroh had already fallen back asleep. Atobe stroked the damp golden curls and sighed, draping one leg over Jiroh. "Yeah, you did, didn't you?" He murmured with a faint smile.


	3. Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku

Sanada knew it was the right thing to do. He'd been deluding himself far too long already, as well as deceiving others. It was time to put this to and end. He'd toyed with the idea many times before already, but although he'd taken the first tentative step numerous times, he'd never been able to complete it. Today, he would. He picked up his cell phone.

Today, he was going to officially break up with Atobe.

But he'd just pressed Atobe's number on speed dial when his phone began to ring. Caller ID claimed his caller to be…just the person he was dialling. Sanada answered the call.

"Atobe?" He said. This was odd, Atobe hadn't spoken to him ever since his outburst at his birthday party. Sanada, deciding that Atobe was mad at him and giving him the silent treatment, had been waiting for the diva to cool down when he plucked up the courage to end their relationship for good.

"Sanada, I want you to just listen to me first. Don't say a word until I'm done. Can you do that? It's important." Without waiting for a reply, Atobe continued on. "Sanada, we both know that this relationship is going _nowhere_. You and I, we've tried—and failed—so many times already. Nothing's worked. So I'm breaking up with you. This is it, Sanada, we're officially over."

Sanada was at a loss for words. And when the words finally penetrated his mind, he found that it hurt. It didn't matter that he had been just about to do the same thing. It hurt.

"I understand, Atobe," Sanada replied, unable to keep the curtness out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried. "Goodbye."

* * *

Atobe heard the farewell just a moment before the line was disconnected. He stared down at his phone. If he didn't know any better, it sounded like he'd just upset Sanada. But all those times they'd tried to break up, three-quarters of the times they'd been 'off' in their on-again-off-again relationship…hadn't it been Sanada who had been the one to initiate the break up? Atobe thought he'd be doing Sanada a favour. It was clear to all around them that Sanada was devoted to Yukimura. _Everybody_, save Sanada himself, seemed to know that.

Atobe ran a hand tiredly through his styled hair, not caring for once that he was messing it up. That one-minute call had taken more out of him than he had expected. He and Sanada fought—often—but he couldn't deny that they'd also had their share of good memories. He sighed and placed the cell phone back on his bedside table, before turning to his bed-mate.

"So," Jiroh asked with a yawn. "How'd it go?"

"Well, he didn't start ranting and raving, if that's what you mean. But surprisingly enough, I don't think he took it as well as I would have thought."

"He wasn't happy?"

Atobe scoffed. "Jiroh, I just broke up with him. _No_body would be happy. But I thought he'd be at least…satisfied. I think I hurt him."

Jiroh rolled over to rest his head on Atobe's stomach. "Nobody likes to be on the receiving end, Atobe. But he'll get over it, once he realises who's been in front of him all this time." He reached up to trail a finger down Atobe's cheek. "You knew, didn't you? All along. It's always been Yukimura who held his heart."

A sad smile broke out on Atobe's face.

"I suppose I did. Ne, Jiroh, you know what attracted me to him initially? Hyotei has no fukubuchou—never has, never will. But I can imagine how much strain it would put on someone to have to live up to the expectations of someone like a team captain. Being buchou…it's a lot of weight. And Sanada, well, he pulled it off so well. If I'd been an outsider who didn't know who he was, I would have thought him to be Rikkai's buchou. Someone that strong…that's what I found fascinating about him at first.

"It worked well, in the beginning, Jiroh. But then, after awhile, he had to have his way and me…well, ore-sama _has_ to have his way as well, obviously. The two of us, we're both strong, but neither one knows how to submit to the other. The thing is, Jiroh, we were both too strong. I think ultimately, we were both afraid that if we ever gave the control to the other, that we'd never get it back. And for people like us, it's one of the most frightening prospects."

Atobe played around with Jiroh's curls in silence for a moment or two, just enjoying the raw-silk texture and the bright gold hue of it. And then he continued, his voice soft.

"It's different with you, though, Jiroh. Around you, control doesn't seem to matter as much. And somehow…I know that even if I let you take the reins for awhile, you'll pass it back to me soon enough. It's what was missing between me and Sanada." He smiled, the smile the rare, tender one reserved only for those he loved enough to reveal his more vulnerable side.

"You've seen it too, haven't you? You were there once, when I followed him to visit Yukimura. The way they look at each other. Buchou and fukubuchou, and yet Yukimura knows what he needs, and he willingly gives the control over to Sanada." Atobe laughed shortly. "Call me stubborn, Jiroh, but I had to try to prove that I could be what he needed, even though I already knew I could never give him what Yukimura would."

Jiroh gazed into his eyes and saw the wound that still hurt, that was only beginning to heal. He smiled gently and urged Atobe to lean down.

"And I love you all the same, Atobe. I know, and it doesn't matter to me. Things were meant to end up this way. There was no way any of us was going to win against fate anyway." He pulled Atobe down for a comforting kiss. "Let's see if they can get as lucky as us, ne?"

Jiroh settled his head more comfortably, and with a small yawn, began to doze once more.

* * *

He woke up briefly, when Atobe carefully lifted his head from stomach to a pillow. He drifted lightly, considering whether or not to fall back asleep, and then he heard the sound of running water, as Atobe began to shower. Instantly, he woke up. This would be a good opportunity.

He scrambled for his cell phone and located the number in his contacts list. He pressed the green 'call' button and waited for the other end to pick up his call.

"Ne, Yukimura," he said quietly, so that his voice didn't carry into the bathroom. "He finally got the courage to do it, so you can expect Sanada over anytime from now."

"Ah. Thank you, Jiroh. You've been wonderful help."

Jiroh grinned. "Well, I had a big stake in it as well." Then he sobered up. "I think I should let you know, though. Atobe said that Sanada sounded…well, that he didn't take it all _that_ well. Nothing _big_, but you know how they are…the 'stoics'." He managed a small smile. "It might not have been so bad if Sanada had managed to call first, but since Atobe was the one who did, I think Sanada got his feelings a bit hurt. Be gentle with him, okay, Yukimura?"

"Don't worry, Jiroh. I know him very well, and I know how his mind works. I'll give him a hard enough time, but ultimately, he'll find it worth it."

"Okay. I'm going off now," he said with a grin. "Atobe's in the shower."

"Ah, going to surprise him? Make sure you don't slip on the tiles. That would just spoil the mood," Yukimura replied with a laugh. "Ja, Jiroh, and thanks again for your input in this."

"Yours too." Jiroh hung up with a smile. All would be put right. He replaced his phone where he had found it, and after a deliciously feline stretch, he hopped off the bed and went to join Atobe in the shower.

* * *

Practice had just ended, and Sanada was on his way to the hospital. He hadn't been to visit Yukimura since Atobe's birthday. He'd wanted to examine for himself, whether what Atobe had said to him that day was true.

_It's true, isn't it? You've decided to go back to Yukimura._

And then, barely a week later, when he had reached the conclusion that he didn't truly love Atobe, Atobe had called up first, and broken up with him.

Damn, it still stung. More than a week later, and he still felt that hurt. It had faded into a faint ache, but it still hurt. It _really_ didn't matter that he'd been a mere second away from doing the exact same thing that Atobe had—would it have hurt Atobe as much as it was hurting him right now, he couldn't help but wonder—the pain was there.

He'd been unable to concentrate during practice. Renji had noticed first, of course, but that was because he never missed anything. But then even the others had noticed how he seemed slower than usual in his reaction time, how he occasionally faltered in his shots. His heart wasn't in tennis. Frankly, he didn't know where it was.

He'd thought that he would feel a sense of freedom once the pain dulled, but the floating feeling he had thought he would experience was turning out to be more like aimless drifting than anything else. He had come to a crossroad, and for the first time in a very long time, he had no idea where to go.

Yukimura always knew what to do, though, and so he was going to the hospital for some direction. And deeper in his heart, even if he didn't know it himself, maybe he was going for some comfort as well.

But when he arrived at the hospital, at Yukimura's room, what happened stunned him.

"Get out."

He stood there in the doorway, wondering if he'd heard wrongly. "What?"

Yukimura gritted his teeth. "Get _out_," he repeated.

"Seiichi-"

"Don't you _dare_ call me by that name, Sanada," he snarled, his hands clenched into fists. And then the vicious fury in his eyes was dulled by the sheen of tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

"Sei- Yukimura, what-" He took a step in, wanted to close the door.

"Stay where you are, Sanada. I want you out of here!" Indigo eyes flashed, even as tears overflowed and began to spill from his eyes. "You promised," he said, his carefully modulated voice trembling. "You said you'd go to Atobe's house just to wish him happy birthday, and then you'd come back and check on how I was doing."

He wiped away the tears with an angry brush of one hand. "It's okay even if you stayed longer—it was his birthday anyway—but it's been at least _two weeks_, and you didn't visit!" He looked away furiously. "My family, they're away visiting my aunt, because she took a bad fall recently and broke her hip, and her children need to be cared for. And even my imouto can't visit me because they didn't want to leave her alone in the house, so they requested the school to excuse her from school so that they could bring her with them.

"The others paid me a visit last week, but they're busy, and they have other things to do. But at least they remembered me!" Yukimura turned to face Sanada again. "Two weeks, Sanada, that I've been waiting for you to show up. I've been patient, and I've been worried sick that something happened to you, and the whole, time, I've just been damned _lonely_. And now you waltz in here like Atobe's party was just yesterday."

Sanada managed to gather his wits enough to shut the door. He didn't make the mistake of moving from his spot, though. When Yukimura was _this_ upset, it was best—and smartest—to do what he said. You didn't mess with Yukimura. Not if you valued all that was important in your life. Yukimura was Rikkai's buchou for a reason, after all.

"Something happened," he began wearily. This was the last thing he needed. He'd come here for direction and some peace of mind, and now it seemed that not only was he going to go away with his questions unanswered, he was going to earn Yukimura's wrath as well. Correction: It seemed that he'd _already_ earned it. "Atobe said a few things to me that day that I needed to think over."

"For _two weeks_?" Yukimura said, his voice scornful and disbelieving.

"It was… I needed to think hard about what he said. Last week, we broke up." He expected at least some sympathy from Yukimura. Yukimura was his closest friend. Not even Renji could usurp his place.

"Ah, so _that's_ why you're here," Yukimura replied, the fire in his voice now frozen, icy cool. He pulled the covers down and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. And then he reached for something lying near his pillow.

And then he hurled it at Sanada.

Sanada stood, frozen in place, as the novel crashed into the door, just beside his head. For a brief second, before the shock set in, he had a brief thought.

_Guillain-Barre Syndrome my foot. He doesn't _need_ a physiotherapist! Since when could he throw like _that

"I will _not_ be your rebound lover, Sanada," Yukimura snarled. "I will _never_ let you use me as a replacement for Atobe. And if you're trying to get him jealous, find someone else. I may be weak, Sanada, but that does _not_ mean that I will _ever_ let myself be used for such a purpose. You have your damned pride Sanada, and ill as I am, I still have _mine_." He pointed at the door. "Get out, _now_, before I throw something else at you. Because the next time, Sanada, I'll actually _aim_."

Sanada stared at Yukimura for a moment, speechless, only bending down to retrieve the novel that had been Yukimura's missile, when his buchou reached for the hardcover novel on his bedside table. He smoothened the pages that had been crushed by the impact, and held it out to Yukimura, before slowly walking to the bed. He placed the worn paperback on the hardcover novel, which he saw was actually a thick reference book, 'Applications of Physiotherapy in Sports Medicine'. Kami-sama, it was a good thing _that_ hadn't been in place of the paperback novel.

He looked down at Yukimura's hands, which were tightly clenched. He reached for them, but Yukimura snatched them out of his way with a sharp glare. He tried once more, and eventually succeeded, but then maybe Yukimura was simply curious as to what his seemingly suicidal fukubuchou was attempting.

Sanada eased open Yukimura's fists, gently rubbing at the deep crescent-shaped grooves in his palm.

"You'll hurt yourself, Seiichi," he said in a soft murmur. "I'll… I'll come back tomorrow, okay?" Maybe after a day, Yukimura might feel a little more inclined towards hearing him out than violence. Fragile as Yukimura seemed, this was the person who had beaten Kirihara in tennis with nary a scratch. That _definitely_ said something about Yukimura's capability to turn violent-if he wished to. But the hands he was holding were trembling.

"Go away," Yukimura whispered in a broken voice. "I don't care if you wait another two weeks, or if you never come back." He pulled his hands away and curled up in bed, facing away from Sanada.

Sanada resisted the urge to touch Yukimura's hair, and then he walked back towards the door. He opened it, and before he left, turned around.

"I _will_ come back tomorrow, Yukimura. I _promise_." But Yukimura didn't say a word, didn't even turn to look at him.

Sanada shut the door quietly behind him as he left. How had things turned out to be such a mess?

* * *

Yukimura waited for the footsteps outside to recede, before he moved. He scowled. Stupid, _stupid_ Sanada. He had told Jiroh that he wouldn't be too harsh with Sanada. He hadn't really expected Sanada to return to the hospital directly after the party. After the first four days, he'd been annoyed, but not angry. But when several days had passed after Jiroh's call, and Sanada _still_ hadn't shown up, he had gotten worried. Just how badly had Sanada taken the break up after all?

His entire family really _was_ away. They had felt bad about leaving him alone, but he had assured them that he would be fine. His aunt had three children, all under the age of ten. With her in hospital and his uncle busy working to make sure the hospital bills could be paid, there was no one to look after the children.

It had been a _very_ lonely week.

He hadn't really meant to throw his mystery novel at Sanada. It had just…happened. _Baka__ Gen-kun_… He rubbed at the tears. It _really_ hurt to wonder if Sanada was really over Atobe or not. His fury at being Atobe's replacement… Yukimura was sure he was a fine actor when the circumstances required it, but he hadn't required his acting skills for _that_. He wondered what he was to Sanada. Was he even important, this broken shell of a once strong young man? He didn't know.

And it hurt.

He picked up his phone and dialled a familiar number. The phone rang, and then someone picked up.

"Hello?" A sleepy voice muttered.

Yukimura sniffed. "Jiroh, could you come over for a visit today, please?"

* * *

It was barely twenty minutes later that Jiroh was standing at the door to Yukimura's room. He'd gotten Atobe to get his chauffer drive him to the hospital. Atobe had questioned him, naturally, but Jiroh had been too anxious to really say anything. Yukimura had sounded positively _heartbroken_. Jiroh was _certain_ that Yukimura had been crying when he had called.

_Shit. What's happened to Sanada? Or maybe… What did Sanada _do

He knocked on the door, then opened it and peered inside. "Yukimura?" He had a _very_ bad feeling about what must have happened when he saw Rikkai's buchou curled up on his side, staring miserably at the wall. He entered the room and shut the door quickly.

Jiroh rushed to Yukimura's side and laid a hand on Yukimura's shoulder. "Oi," he said softly. "You okay?"

Yukimura shifted over to look at Jiroh. He sniffled and then grabbed Jiroh in a loose hug. "Jiroh, I threw a book at him!" He wailed.

"What?" He patted Yukimura's back soothingly. "You threw a book at him? Why?"

"This is the first time he's been to see me since Atobe's party. He didn't even _call_. I was furious with him. I _yelled_ at him, Jiroh, and I threatened him and I told him that I didn't care if he ever came back or not." He buried his face in Jiroh's shirt. "_I blew it!_"

Jiroh rubbed Yukimura's back as he would a terrified child. He wondered when, during their sessions of planning and conspiracy, Yukimura had become such a close friend, to the extent that now, his heart ached to see Yukimura falling apart.

"He'll come back, Yukimura. He will, I'm sure of it."

"No he won't. He's such a proud person, and I accused him of all sorts of horrible things and I threatened to throw my hardcover book at him too. If he was smart—and he is—he'd never come near me ever again."

Jiroh pried Yukimura away from him slightly, and made him look up. "Why don't you tell me everything that happened. Let's see what we can do about it. We've come so far, we can't fail _now_, ne? I've got Atobe. It's your turn now."

* * *

Atobe was sipping coffee and checking messages on his phone when Jiroh found him. He managed a small smile. Atobe Keigo, heir to a multi-millionaire fortune, was drinking hospital-café coffee, and waiting for him. He ordered an iced chocolate and pulled out a chair to sat beside Atobe.

Hearing the scrape of chair legs against the floor, Atobe looked up from his cell phone. "Hey, what happened?"

Jiroh sighed, and dug a hand into his thick curls. "It's a huge mess of Kabaji proportions." He glanced at Atobe, then looked away. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Jiroh sighed again and looked back at Atobe. "Ne, Atobe, if I tell you something now, promise to keep it a secret? And promise you won't get mad?"

"Jiroh, what did you do _this_ time?"

"Well, the thing is… Yukimura and I are friends."

Atobe blinked. "So? What is it about that that I have to keep it a secret and get angry about?"

Jiroh removed his hand from his hair and shook his head rapidly. "No, no, not _that_. But anyway, we're friends. It started when he called me up one day. I had no idea who it was, really, when I picked up the call. He must have gotten my number from his data collector. It was when you and Sanada were still together. He asked if I could come down to the hospital for a chat, and I did. He's a nice guy, and it's so easy to talk to him. One thing led to another, and when next thing I knew, we were talking about the two of you."

A hand discreetly set a tall glass of icy chocolate in front of Jiroh. He took a short sip to refresh himself, wet his throat, and prepare himself for the burst of anger which was sure to come when he told Atobe the rest of his story.

"We were talking about how it wasn't fair that Yukimura was unable to work on getting Sanada because he was in hospital, and how you were beyond my reach because you were already going out with Sanada. You've never seen him that way before, Atobe, but while we were talking, I could actually see _pain_ in his eyes. That's the main reason why I agreed to help him out in the first place. He needed Sanada more than you ever would."

Atobe was beginning to see where this was going.

"You two…planned…to break us up?" He asked in disbelief.

"Well, not really break you up, per se, but more… I would seduce you and see where that led to." He looked away, not able to meet Atobe's eyes. "It was painful, you know, to have to watch you shower your attention on Sanada. I tried to sleep even more, so that I wouldn't see it. But you always sent Kabaji to wake me up." He smiled ruefully. "I wished, for more than anything else, that just for once, you would wake me up yourself. And I could understand his pain, that's why I agreed to the plan that had started out just as conversation."

"All along, you've been trying to get us apart?"

"All along, I've been trying to get you to pay attention to _me_!" Jiroh exclaimed, his hand slapping the table. "A break up between you and Sanada was just a possibility, okay?" Jiroh slumped back in his seat. "I just wanted a bit of what you were giving to _him_. It wouldn't have mattered to me if I'd become a third party, I just wanted _you_." His wrapped his hands around his glass tightly. "And now…you hate me, don't you? After hearing all that." He drank his chocolate quietly, savouring what was probably the last few moments he would have alone with Atobe.

Atobe didn't say anything. Rather, he found that he _couldn't_. He was still trying to comprehend everything that Jiroh had said, when the volley specialist set his empty glass back down on the table and placed some money down on the table to pay for the drink.

"I'll leave now," Jiroh said quietly. "It's okay, you know, I understand if you'll never call me again. I did all that because I loved you, and because I could never have you." He pushed back his chair. "I'll take a bus home."

Jiroh stood up to leave, his heart heavy. Was this what Yukimura was feeling? No wonder he had been crying. He took one step. But was unable to take another.

"You didn't even wait for me to say anything." Atobe pulled Jiroh back to the chair and got the blonde to sit down. "Now stay there and don't say anything for awhile, okay? It's still sinking in, what you've just said."

"Oh. Okay."

"So let me get this straight, Jiroh. You and Yukimura have been planning from the start to get me and Sanada away from each other so that you could get me, and Yukimura would get Sanada-" When Jiroh tried to protest once more that it hadn't been his intention to actually break them up but just inject himself into the equation, Atobe laid a finger on Jiroh's lips. "Don't interrupt ore-sama, Jiroh. Trying to get me to cheat on Sanada is more or less the same thing. So, is that it?"

"I guess, without all the frills." Jiroh peeked at Atobe through his lashes, not daring to actually look at Atobe face to face. "You're angry at me now, aren't you."

Atobe snorted. "Angry? Of _course_ I am! Jiroh, how _could_ you? No, don't say anything yet, I'm still speaking. What was between me and Sanada might have been _real_."

"He wasn't for you, Atobe. You know it. Just listening to Yukimura talk about him… His life may be tennis, Atobe, but his heart and soul, they belong to Sanada. I couldn't leave him like that. And you see it now, right? It's so clear how they belong together. The two of you never had a real chance. I saw that, Atobe, that's _why_ I did all that. I'm not _that_ stupid."

"At this moment, Jiroh, I beg to differ," Atobe remarked dryly.

"Fine, so maybe it _was_ a selfish, stupid thing to do." He glared at Atobe. "But I'm not sorry I did it."

"When I was presented a choice, Jiroh, ore-sama chose _you_. I'm not stupid either. I just can't believe you actually did that, and that you were able to stay awake long enough to carry it out It seems that I've underestimated you, Jiroh. I never thought you capable of something like that."

Jiroh snorted, a little most at ease not that it seemed Atobe was as angry as he had expected. "I'm from Hyotei, Atobe. We're _all_ capable of such things."

"Such an insult," Atobe said, but with a small smile. "But true, I suppose. Hyotei is ruthless." He gave an indolent shrug.

"About Yukimura…"

"Yes, you haven't really answered my question of 'what happened'." Atobe sipped his coffee, grimacing when he found that it had gone cold.

"Yukimura threw a book at Sanada."

Atobe stared at Jiroh, speechless for a good three seconds. "What!"

Jiroh grinned. "Yes, I wish I could have seen it. There's even a small dent in the door where the book hit, you know. I saw it on the way out."

"Why?"

Jiroh sighed. "For starters, it seems that Sanada's been in a funk since your party and hasn't visited Yukimura since then."

"Wasn't my party at least two weeks ago?"

Jiroh nodded. "That's the point."

Atobe rolled his eyes in pure exasperation. Shaking his head in disbelief, he snorted, "I don't get it. When we were dating, he couldn't _not_ visit Yukimura. And now that we _aren't_ dating… So Yukimura's feeling abandoned, is he?"

"It's more, he was worried about Sanada, and also lonely, because his entire family has left to visit his injured aunt. Also… Well, Yukimura overreacted a little bit and accused Sanada of wanting to use him to win you back."

"Che, and I thought Yukimura was smart."

"Hey, he _is_. He's just very emotional right now."

Atobe leaned back in his seat. "You're starting to make him sound like a girl. He and Fuji Syuusuke, they would get along fine."

"Ne, Atobe, about Yukimura and Sanada…"

"No more plotting, Jiroh."

"It'll be fun. Think of it as…retaliatory actions to his previous plan." He said with a grin.

"Well…"

"Please?"

* * *

Sanada was packing his bag to leave for the hospital, when Yanagi interrupted him. Annoyed that he would be delayed, Sanada replied curtly, "What is it, Renji?"

"It has come to my attention that you are at odds with Seiichi."

"Did he call you?"

"He didn't have to."

Sanada scowled. "If you have anything else to say, say it. I'm running late." His scowl faded a bit. "I'm going to the hospital after this."

"Good. Ne, Genichirou, if it's not too much of me to say this… Don't make him wait anymore. Make him happy."

"Renji, he's not even _talking_ to me anymore. He threw a book at me yesterday!"

Eyebrow raised, Yanagi replied, "I know. You made him _very_ angry. Make it up to him, Genichirou. Give him what you never gave Atobe." And with that, Yanagi left the club room.

Marui was waiting for him outside. When he shut the door, Marui quickly led him away from the clubroom.

"So, so, how did it go?"

"Whether or not he'll follow my advice is unknown, but there's a good chance that he will."

As they walked out of school, Marui asked, slightly puzzled. "How did Akutagawa know that buchou threw a book at Sanada?"

Yanagi grinned. "A while ago, I suggested something to Seiichi, and it seems that he decided to take my advice. He and Akutagawa are friends now."

* * *

Yukimura had the hardcover reference book on his lap, and he was idly flipping the pages. But nothing he read actually registered. And for the past ten minutes, he had been staring at the same diagram. It was a lovely day outside, but he didn't feel like going out to enjoy it. He was certain that the day, with its overabundance of sunshine, was mocking him. He heard a knock on his door. Maybe it was Jiroh. The Hyotei regular had promised to stop by sometime today.

"Come in," he said tiredly.

The door opened, and Yukimura was more than surprised to see over a dozen stalks of brightly coloured tulips. But even more surprising was who held them.

"Sanada?"

"Don't throw another book at me today, okay?" Sanada said quickly, shutting the door, and walked over to the vase on Yukimura's bedside table. The flowers inside had died at least a week ago, and it was now empty. He began filling it up with tulips. "I thought you might be missing your garden, so I brought some flowers for you."

"Oh. Thank you."

Sanada plucked a tangerine orange one from the bunch he was arranging and held it out to Yukimura. "Like them?"

Yukimura took it carefully, and he brushed one fingertip against the smooth petal. He began to smile. "It's beautiful…"

Sanada studied the vase critically, and then moved a few stems around. Pleased that the arrangement was to his liking, he filled in some water and held out the vase to Yukimura. The indigo-haired buchou looked on as the sunlight hit the petals, and the drops of water Sanada had sprinkled onto the petals. The droplets caught the light, and they looked like liquid diamonds. He touched one peach-pink bloom reverently, and caught the water on his fingertip. He tucked the flower he was holding into the vase, and looked up at Sanada with a small smile.

"I promise not to throw another book at you. They're lovely, Sanada. Thank you…"

Sanada replaced the vase back on the table and pulled a chair over to the bedside. "I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea yesterday, Seiichi. I didn't mean it like that."

Yukimura sighed. "I know, Sanada. I overreacted, and I'm sorry. I missed your visits, you know. One moment you were visiting almost every other day, and then next… I thought I'd done something to make you angry at me."

"No," Sanada said with a small smile. "You could never make me angry, Seiichi."

"You suddenly stopped visiting…what _else_ was I supposed to think?" Yukimura looked down at his hands. In a soft whisper, he murmured, "I really _was_ lonely, you know. I missed you. I missed our conversations. I missed just sitting next to you. If you decide not to visit for another extended period, tell me first, okay? It would hurt less…"

He looked up, startled, when he found himself wrapped in a tight hug. "Sanada?..."

"I never meant to hurt you."

Yukimura rested his cheek against Sanada's shoulder. He trailed his hand up Sanada's arm, nuzzling his neck with a small smile. "I know, I know you didn't. But it _did_ hurt all the same. You're my best friend, Sanada. I know you would never deliberately hurt me."

_Best friends…_ Sanada touched a fingertip to Yukimura's hair. _Is that all I am to you, after all?_

"Will you stop by again tomorrow?"

Sanada nodded. "Of course. After school ends."

Yukimura sighed. "Ne, Sanada, did you see Renji today? I haven't seen him recently. I hope he's not sick or anything…"

Sanada blinked in surprise. "Didn't he stop by yesterday?"

"No. Did he say that he would?"

_But he knew about Seiichi throwing the book at me…_ Sanada frowned minutely. That was definitely strange. Either Yukimura wasn't telling the truth, or Yanagi had developed fearsome powers that were unexplainable by science. But there was no reason for Yukimura to lie to him at all.

_Don't tell me Renji's actually been _drinking_ the drinks that his childhood friend from Seigaku has been giving him… _Indeed, Inui Sadaharu was a person to be feared.

He glanced at his watch and jumped up from the bed. "Seiichi, I have to go now. My mother needs me home for something. I'm sorry it was such a short visit, but I couldn't just leave things as they were yesterday. I'll try to stay longer tomorrow, okay?"

Yukimura smiled. "Hey, it's okay, Sanada. I told you I wasn't really angry at you… It doesn't matter if you stop by just to say 'hello'. I'm happy just having you visit me." He gave Sanada a gentle prod towards the door. "Hurry home to see what your mother needs you for, okay? Take care, Sanada, and thank you again for your flowers."

Sanada left the ward and was walking towards the hospital entrance when he saw a familiar face emerging from a luxurious car. And then he saw another familiar face in the car, waving goodbye.

He wondered when Atobe had turned to Jiroh, and if it was before or after their official break-up. And when Jiroh walked by, the blonde actually smiled at him. Jiroh had never been outright hostile to him, save perhaps that fateful day at Atobe's birthday party. But he had never been all that friendly either. So when Jiroh greeted him with a smile and a perky 'how are you', Sanada was floored.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I was visiting Yukimura."

"Oh, and how is he?"

"He's fine."

Jiroh grinned. "Well, that's good. Bye!"

Sanada watched as Jiroh hurried off. He never even got the chance to ask the Hyotei student what he was doing in the hospital.

* * *

Sanada, true to his word, made his way to the hospital the following day. He knocked on Yukimura's door, and heard a laughing voice say, "Come in!" He found Yanagi inside, along with Marui and Niou.

"Sanada!"

Sanada saw a bright smile grow on Yukimura's face, and realised how much he had missed that happy, unguarded look. He walked to Yukimura's bed side, and Niou immediately moved aside to give him more space. He sat down beside Yukimura and glanced at the tulip that his buchou was stroking.

"I see you like the flowers."

Yukimura's smile was brighter than the sunlight gently filtering through the window, and more beautiful than the flower he was touching. "They're from you. How could I _not_ like them?"

"Ne, Yukimura," Niou said with a small grin. "I'll go now, okay? Yagyuu's waiting for me at the courts. He wants to work on a new move."

"So soon?" Yukimura said. But when Niou opened his mouth to apologize, he smiled. "I'm kidding. Go on then. Don't let your doubles partner wait. Give him my regards, and let him know that I'll be waiting to get out of hospital so that I can see that new move."

Niou winked. "Sure thing." He gave them a small wave as he exited the room. "See you next practice, minna-san!"

Yukimura waved him over with the cheerful bloom. "Sit beside me," he asked, and Sanada couldn't refuse him, if he'd even wanted to in the first place. "Marui likes your flowers too." He tapped Sanada on the nose playfully with the butter-yellow flower. "They really _are_ beautiful…"

While Yukimura was carefully examining the flower, like he was prone to do when striking botany caught his eye, Sanada gave Marui and Yanagi pointed looks and disguised his growl with a very fake cough. Deception had never been one of Sanada's finer abilities. But his team mates got the hint and quickly scrambled for their belongings.

"Ne, buchou, we should go," Marui said before popping his mint-green bubble. "We've taken up enough of your time." He grabbed Yanagi by the wrist and scampered out. "We'll come by another day and visit you again, okay?"

Yukimura waved and laughed at the sight of his tall friend being dragged away by their more petite tensai. "Sanada, you didn't _have_ to scare them away." He carefully replaced the flower in the vase.

"Was I _that_ obvious?" Sanada muttered, cringing.

Yukimura tugged down the brim of Sanada's trademark black cap. "Subterfuge has never been your specialty. Except maybe in tennis." He grinned. "But I can see right through you anyway."

"Well, it explains why I've yet to win you in a proper match." Sanada unzipped his bag and pulled out an elaborately wrapped present. "And, um…this…it's for you." He thrust the gift awkwardly onto his buchou's lap.

And Yukimura couldn't help but giggle inwardly at Sanada's obvious discomfort. He wondered what was making the normally calm, stoic fukubuchou so flustered. "It looks wonderful," he replied, as he examined the textured paper and shimmering cord and intricate knots. He plucked at one hidden end, threaded it through a few loops here and there, and then tugged gently. Sanada could only watch in surprise as everything unravelled. Yukimura certainly had a way with undoing knots.

His buchou stroked the lacquered black surface of the small box. And with each moment that passed that Yukimura didn't open it, Sanada felt the pressure building up in his chest. Finally, Yukimura touched a fingertip to his nose and laughed. "It's so much fun teasing you like this," he said.

And Sanada exhaled in a loud puff of breath. "You love tormenting me, don't you?" But Yukimura _did_ eventually lift the lid of the small box.

He gasped, and then beamed at Sanada. "Where did you _find_ this!"

Sanada ducked his head slightly and tipped his cap down to hide the smile and faint blush that was spreading across his face. "I remembered that you'd been searching for it before you got admitted into hospital."

"I can't believe you remembered…" Yukimura put the box aside and flung his arms around Sanada's neck. "You remembered… Thank you."

"It wasn't something I'd forget." But he raised his head slightly to reveal his smile.

* * *

True to his word, Sanada _did_ stay longer, and they talked about everything, from schoolwork to the tennis team. While Yukimura wasn't angry with them for losing to Seigaku, he _was_ disappointed that his team had let their skills slide so much while he had been in hospital.

"I promise, when I get out of here, we're going to have a nice little training camp," Yukimura said, his twilight eyes glinting with something a bit more sinister than mirth.

Sanada gulped, and shook his head slightly and laughed anyway. He'd have expected nothing less of his buchou. He happened to have looked out the window.

"I can't believe it's gotten so late!"

Yukimura simply smiled. "Time passes too quickly when with someone you like, ne?" He shrugged. "No matter, you can always come back another day."

"I'll leave now, then, or I'll be late for dinner."

"Take care, Sanada, and thank you again for the present." He smiled again, but this time, his lips curved almost shyly. "I think you're the only one who remembered how much I wanted it…"

Sanada stared longingly at those pale pink lips and felt something within him stir to life. He tamped it down and returned the soft smile. "I've got to stay back late tomorrow after school, but I'll try to drop by for a visit the day after, okay?"

"Sure. Your visits are the highlight of my days here, so don't forget to visit!" Yukimura called out to him as he left, waving as he did.

* * *

However, by the time the weekend rolled around, and then passed, Yukimura was getting more and more annoyed. It wasn't that Sanada wasn't visiting. His fukubuchou had returned to his habitual visits, but… He'd expected more each time, but absolutely nothing had happened during each visit. All they did was talk—not that Yukimura didn't like their chats—but he wanted _more_ than just exchanging of words.

First it had been the tulips, which Yukimura loved, like he did all plant life. And then it was the ornamental porcelain garden that Sanada had so carefully wrapped in the black box. Next had been the small selection of chocolates from the store he used to frequent before he had fallen ill. And then the new novel by his favourite author. Every day, he brought a new gift that Yukimura loved, which he cherished, like all the other things that Sanada had ever given him—down to the pressed skeleton of a leaf that Sanada had made in elementary school.

Sanada was visiting again, and while one part of Yukimura couldn't help but look forward to his next gift, he felt frustration growing again, that Sanada would most probably do nothing again. _He hasn't even kissed me, even after I promised that I wasn't mad at him anymore and wouldn't throw anymore things at him._ Yukimura was a person who kept his word, and everyone knew it.

Yukimura sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to make the first move, but more that he'd wanted Sanada to.

There was a knock on his door.

Shaken out of his thoughts, he got out of bed and strode to the bed. His body was getting stronger each day, and really, the doctors were now keeping him in hospital to make sure he wouldn't suffer a relapse.

"Ah, Sanada. Come on in."

"Should you be wandering around like that?"

"You know that I'm more or less healed. I'm almost as strong as I was before I fell ill." He grinned mischievously. "Want to find out for yourself?"

Sanada gulped. "I think not."

Finally, something in Yukimura snapped, and he scowled. Sanada immediately took a step back. An angry Yukimura was _not_, as he had found out a long time ago, somebody to be trifled with.

"Why don't you want to do anything!"

"Huh?"

"Every time you visit, you never try anything! It's infuriating!"

Now Sanada was just confused. He took a few steps back to Yukimura's side. The warrior in him had ascertained that the initial danger was over. But it didn't mean that he wasn't still wary. "What do you mean?"

"You keep visiting me with gifts, but you do nothing else!"

"I thought you liked them?"

Yukimura slapped a palm to his forehead. "I _do_, but…" He sighed. "Nevermind. I'm sorry for making such a fuss." He tried to smile. "I'm not going to throw anything at you, so don't worry."

But Sanada refused to leave it at that. Yukimura obviously wasn't happy with something he'd done. Or was that something he _hadn't_ done? Sanada wasn't sure, but he intended to find out what it was. He recalled that Atobe had occasionally had sudden outbursts like this, and the diva was just as adamant at not telling him what had made him upset. And one thing in particular had managed to help Sanada pry whatever he wanted out of Hyotei's buchou. He figured it wouldn't hurt to try that same method on Yukimura. Maybe it was just a buchou sort of problem.

He guided Yukimura back to the bed and sat his aggravated captain on the edge of the bed. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you, Seiichi?"

"There wouldn't be a point in telling you."

"Why not?"

Yukimura actually pouted as he replied, and Sanada had to admit that it was a first for him. "Because I don't want to." He glared at nothing in particular, lips still pouting, and Sanada was very tempted to touch that faintly glistening bit of skin, to see if it was really as soft as it looked.

"Seiichi…"

"What?" Yukimura muttered. Then his licked his lips absently, realizing that the jug of water at his bedside was empty. He had a fleeting thought that maybe Sanada would bring him to the café for a drink, when he suddenly found himself pushed back on the bed.

"Wha-" And then warm lips cut off his words. He enjoyed the kiss for a moment, before smiling and actively participating. He threaded his fingers through Sanada's hair, toying with the soft black silk flowing over his fingers. Sanada lifted his head away just enough to whisper, his lips moving against Yukimura's.

"Your skin is so soft, Seiichi…" Sanada looked down and brushed the pad of his thumb over Yukimura's gently curving lips. He nuzzled the slender curve of Yukimura's neck. "Why were you so upset?" He murmured.

"Hm? Upset, me?" Yukimura felt the corners of his lips curving into a small smile. "Not telling…" He rubbed his cheek against Sanada's soft hair. "You smell really good, Gen-kun…"

Sanada tilted his head up to stare at Yukimura. "You haven't called me that for quite some time…" He smiled slowly. "I missed hearing you call me that."

"I missed calling you that," Yukimura whispered. "You really made me furious that day," he continued with a sad smile. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sanada's. "It made me so angry that even after you'd ignored me for so long, I still wanted you around, that I still wanted to play with your hair, touch you."

Sanada's smile sharpened. "I'll let you play to your heart's content," he murmured. And then he grabbed Yukimura's wrists with one hand and pinned them down above their heads. "But only after I'm done with you."

Eyes wide, Yukimura stared at him, an electric tingle running along the length of his spine. And then he narrowed his eyes, a smile forming on his lips. "Have it your way, then," he purred, relaxing in Sanada's grip.

Sanada eyed him cautiously for a moment, but when his buchou didn't suddenly reverse their positions or try anything, for that matter, he let a partially relieved sigh escape. He loosened his school tie, then whipped it from his collar. And then he swiftly used it to bind his buchou's wrists together. He watched, dark eyes gleaming, as Yukimura tested his bonds, arms straining to break free. Yukimura arched one twilight brow in admiration.

"Since when were you able to tie knots like that?"

Sanada bent down in response, and whispered into his ear. "I've been practicing quite a while, buchou." He trailed a wet path along the curve of Yukimura's ear, ending at the lobe. And then he sucked that small nub of flesh into his mouth, grinning at the way Yukimura's body twitched in surprise against his.

Just as he felt Yukimura slowly relax, used to the sensation, he moved down to his buchou's neck, feathering tiny butterfly kisses on his way down. Yukimura tensed once more, and Sanada heard a hitch in his breath and followed by a faint whisper.

"I didn't catch that. What did you say, Seiichi?" He teased, lips moving against the sensitive skin beneath Yukimura's jaw. He nipped a section of the skin there, heard the soft cry of surprise. "I love your voice, it's like music."

And then he moved further down to the shallow hollow at Yukimura's throat, lapped at the faintly salty skin there. Sanada sighed. "I love the way you taste."

"I haven't even taken a bath yet today," Yukimura managed, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

"You taste natural, you smell the way kami-sama intended you to." He sucked on the skin there until there was a lividly burgundy mark, and he pulled away to see how his mark looked on his buchou. And he was very pleased with the image Yukimura presented before him.

Hands restrained, still lying above his head regardless of the fact that Sanada was no longer actively pinning them down, milky skin flushed the rosy pink of dawn, eyes open only a mere fraction, lips parted and begging to be claimed, Yukimura had a masculine sort of beauty that Sanada had long decided was unrivalled. The dark, bruise-like mark only served to enhance that almost ethereal beauty, rather than mar it.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you look, Seiichi?" Sanada brushed his thumb against his buchou's lush lower lip. Yukimura began to smile, eyes still mostly closed, veiled with long, inky lashes. And then the tip of his tongue flickered against the pad of Sanada's thumb. He sucked it in, lips curved slyly, and toyed with it, enjoying the sound of Sanada's husky whisper.

"So _that's_ what put you in such a foul mood, Seiichi?" Sanada removed his thumb and replaced it with his mouth instead. "I have to admit, I've never seen you sexually frustrated before."

"That's because I was too ill to care about what my gonads were trying to say." He quirked his lips and continued in a teasing murmur. "But I'm perfectly healthy now…"

He brought his bound hands forward to grab hold of one of Sanada's, and guided it to the waistband of his hospital pyjamas. He shut his eyes as he felt the warmth of Sanada's palm on his abdomen. And as he slid that hand down with deliberate slowness, he arched into Sanada's touch, his head thrown back as a tiny mewl of pleasure escaped him. Sanada felt himself go rock hard from that one sound alone. With an almost feral snarl, he snatched his hand away, and whipped Yukimura's hands back above his head once more, much to Yukimura's bewilderment.

"Be a good buchou and keep your hands where I leave them," he murmured darkly. With his free hand, he stroked Yukimura through the thin pale green fabric, watching the sensations play across his buchou's face. "Open your eyes, Seiichi, look at me. I want you to see only me." He gave Yukimura a gentle squeeze, and those startled ultramarine eyes flew open.

Sanada released his grip on Yukimura's hands, satisfied when his buchou kept them pressed to the bed. "Such a cooperative buchou, I suppose I can reward you a little, ne, Seiichi?" He slowly unbuttoned Yukimura's pyjama top, pressing a soft kiss to each inch of uncovered skin. He paused for a moment at one shell-pink nipple, suckling until he felt Yukimura trembling beneath him. And he ruthlessly did the same to the other stiffening bud, until he heard his name, coming in harsh pants, from Yukimura.

"Had enough, buchou?"

"Stop now and I _will_ hurl something into your face," Yukimura snarled, desperation echoing in his voice, the sound hazed with lust. Sanada gave the pebble-hard nipple one last lick, and then pulled away.

"Genichirou!" His name was a shivering plea that sent arrows of heat right through him.

Sanada undid the last button and slid the edges of the pyjamas off Yukimura's shoulders. "Sit up," he ordered, and his buchou did as told. "Hands behind you."

Sanada pushed the pyjamas off until they were caught by his tie, which still bound Yukimura's wrists together. And then he used the sleeves to tie Yukimura's forearms to each other. There was no way Yukimura was getting out of that without ripping the garment, and he doubted that his buchou was strong enough to. With a pleased grin, he urged Yukimura back down onto the bed.

The inability to move had Yukimura even more aroused, if that was even possible, and he glared at Sanada, when the fukubuchou simply sat there, looking down at him. "Don't just _sit_ there!" And when Sanada's face suddenly loomed before him, he blinked in surprise.

"Such a bossy little uke, Seiichi." His grin was positively evil. "Patience is a virtue, isn't that what you always tell Kirihara?" Sanada hooked his index finger into the elastic waistband of Yukimura's pyjama pants and tugged it down with excruciating slowness.

"Kami-sama, Sanada, what happened to your famed speed? Hurry _up_!" With his upper limbs restrained as they were, Yukimura was unable to smack Sanada's head like he felt like doing, so he did the next best thing.

He lifted his hips off the bed and ground them against the length of Sanada's lean body, moaning from the intense pleasure the friction produced. "_Touch me, damn it!_"

Sanada yanked the pyjama pants down to Yukimura's ankles and held Yukimura's cock in his hand in one rough movement. "Like this, Seiichi?" He growled.

"Kami-sama!" Yukimura jerked off the bed, surging into Sanada's grip, head pressing back into the pillow. His body was one tense arch, his lips parted in a silent cry. Sanada pinned him back onto the bed and tightened his grip ever so slightly, swallowing Yukimura's shaky scream with a hungry kiss.

As he plundered his buchou's mouth, his thumb teased a drop of fluid from the swollen head of Yukimura's shaft and spread it over the sensitized skin there. And as he smoothed the slick fluid over Yukimura's erection, more seeped from the slit there, until Yukimura was literally dripping with pre-come. And then he began pumping, skin sliding over skin, creating a delicious friction.

Sanada broke the kiss and pulled away just enough to bury his face in Yukimura's dark mass of hair. He inhaled deeply, scented the mild wild-herbal scent of the shampoo Yukimura liked, and something more primal, something that was simply Yukimura.

His hand didn't stop as he kissed Yukimura's forehead, eyelids, cheeks, everywhere except his buchou's kiss swollen lips. And as he continued, he heard his name emerge as a sobbing plea.

"What do you want, Seiichi? Tell me what you want…"

Yukimura didn't reply, but pressed his lips to Sanada's cheek, trembling from the sheer pleasure.

Sanada shook his head. "No, Seiichi, you either tell me what you want, or I'll just stop," he replied, punctuating his words with a final glide, and then releasing Yukimura altogether.

Yukimura cursed with thwarted lust and denied release, straining for even the slightest contact with Sanada, but his fukubuchou nimbly evaded all his attempts, and there was only so much movement he could achieve with his arms immobilized and legs tangled in his pyjamas. "Sanada!" He screeched.

"If you're too loud, someone will end up coming in to investigate, and then, you'll definitely get nothing, Seiichi," Sanada reminded him, a teasing grin on his face. He licked one sticky finger. "You taste pretty good," he remarked casually, as if he didn't have his buchou tied up before him, more or less naked and aching for release. "Want a taste?" He touched the tip of one finger to Yukimura's lips, gulping down the lump in his throat as he watched that nimble pink tongue lick his finger clean.

His other hand stroked Yukimura's cheek tenderly. "Tell me what you want, Seiichi. Say it. I'll give you what you want, everything you want." And the harsh look in his eyes gentled, and he smiled softly.

And it was that gentleness that was Yukimura's undoing. His voice a hoarse rasp, breaking with emotion, he whispered, "Let me come, please, Genichirou."

Sanada pressed a soft kiss to his buchou's forehead and began stroking Yukimura once more, gaining pleasure himself from hearing his buchou's frantic whimpers as he sped towards completion. And an instant before Yukimura came, when his dark, twilight eyes unfocussed and went blank, Sanada whispered harshly, "Come, Seiichi. Come for me."

Yukimura managed to twist his upper body just enough to bury his face in the pillow, even as he thrust harder and faster into Sanada's tight grip. His scream was muffled, but even still, Sanada managed to catch his name. A very smug, very satisfied smile curved his lips. And then Yukimura went limp and collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his almost violent release.

Sanada grabbed a fistful of tissues from the bedside table and wiped Yukimura clean, before grabbing another handful and dampening it with water from the small jug. He brushed Yukimura's sweat-drenched hair away from his face as he cleaned the last traces of sperm away.

"Was it worth the wait, Seiichi?"

His reply was a voluptuous sigh, and a tired smile, a muttered threat of horrors to come if a certain fukubuchou didn't untie his buchou immediately. Sanada simply laughed it off. But he did eventually loosen the bonds until his buchou was able to wriggle out of them. He was pleasantly surprised when Yukimura tugged him down to lie beside him.

Yukimura rested his head on Sanada's chest, quite glad that his fukubuchou's heartbeat was racing almost as fast as his own was. "I'll get back at you for tying me up, Gen-kun, just you wait."

"Yeah? Try not to take too long, if you intend to do the same thing back to me. I promise not to struggle until I loosen the knots," he teased.

And because he was distracted by the hand idly tracing patterns on his belly, he didn't notice the gleam in his buchou's eyes until more than just Yukimura's head was on him. All he could do was stare up at mischievous lapis eyes, as Yukimura straddled his body, resting most of his weight on the hands holding him down.

Yukimura rubbed himself against Sanada's groin, distracting his fukubuchou with his undulations until it was too late. By the time Sanada noticed anything else, his own tie was over his eyes, and Yukimura was busy knotting the ends behind his head. And it was barely a handful of seconds before his buchou was done.

It would seem that Yukimura had done some practicing of his own.

"Now, I just need you to remind me of one thing later, in case I forget."

"What is that?"

"Remind me to thank Renji. A while ago, he gave me a very good…suggestion. It's made four people very happy." Yukimura grabbed the edges of Sanada's shirt. "And two of them are about to get very much happier."

And then he yanked them apart, changing Sanada's conception that his buchou wasn't back to his previous strength yet. Buttons clattered as they hit the floor, and Sanada was very happy that he'd had practice earlier in school. At least he would have clothes to change into.

* * *

Renji jotted down a few more lines in his notebook, a mysterious smile on his face. He waited for a lapse in the muffled noises, opened the door, turned the lock, and shut it with a muted click. And then he tested the door. Satisfied that no one would be interrupting them, he strode off, a murmur on his lips.

"Ii data, indeed."

* * *

**A/N:**

Omg, that was LONG. O.O! I _never_ meant for it to be so long, and indeed, it's long enough to be 2 whole chapters. In fact, it could have ended up even longer, but I decided that if I typed any more, it was going to end up even worse than it already is. I'm of the opinion that this isn't one of my best works, but this chapter has been left un-posted long enough, and now that I've actually _FINISHED_ it, I want it posted, and out of my hair.

And FINALLY, I can say that I have completed a multi-chaptered fic.

Yeah, yeah, cheap thrill.

Once my exams are over, I'll be working on completing as much of my other unfinished works as possible. And I'll be concentrating primarily on _Amethyst and Amber_, since it's only the first part of a much larger story arc. Stay tuned. I promise I'll finish more of my fics. () until then, read, review, enjoy the fanfic!


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